Fading Star State
by El Stormo
Summary: The end of the world came faster than anyone had predicted. When the virus swept through the world, people died still in their bus seats, in their office buildings, on their rollercoasters and their waterslides. And those inside an airplane, could only hope that the crash came quickly - whether it saved them or not.
1. Day -1 - Deadfall

**DAY -1**

 **Deadfall**

"She's geet lush," Matilda told her travelling companion while looking at the behind of the flight attendant.

"Mm, wha'?"

"Stewardess ower there," she said to her friend. "Giz a deek at 'er."

The young woman next to her chuckled despite her nervousness. "Tha' aal ye ever think aboot?"

"Aye, Chel. Whey aye man." She kept staring at the blonde flight attendant, who'd now become embroiled in a discussion with a fussy passenger, a blond-haired man with glasses and a terribly nasal voice. She was pretty, that was a fact. With a sultry voice, Matilda said, "Ah find m'self 'avin' the strang urge tae drink 'er bathwater."

That made Chelsea burst into nervous laughter. "Cor, Tilly, tha's proper rank, tha'."

Tilly turned to her friend. "Ye have tae stop bein' so tense an' tha'. We're almost in Houston. When we get there, no gannin' crackers, d'ye knaa wha' I mean like? Jes… do as yer telt."

"I'll be alreet, Tilly."

"You're my best mate, Chelseh, but you better not fock this up. For the both of us. We fockin' need this, yeah?"

"No' a bairn, Tilly. Just… divvent worry, it's gan be alreet."

"I'm just sayin'. Yer pretty noticeable with tha' wazzock 'aircut as i' is, so divvent bollocks it up."

This wasn't helping her nerves. "Tilly, stop blartin', yeah? Ah luv ye, but ye fockin' do me 'ead in sometimes. We've dun this before, it's na diff'rent this time 'round."

"Yah, soz pet, I'm just a wee bit – "

"Sir, settle down!"

The stewardess' voice made them both turn their heads. She was standing in front of a passenger, with a hand raised to him to urge him to calm down, but the passenger wasn't obeying, and just kept coming towards her, with strange lurching steps, as if he was sleepwalking, but when Chelsea saw his face, she knew it was anything but that. His eyes were glassed over, and they stood deep in their black-ringed sockets. Black veins painted the skin on the side of his neck, fading as they reached his face.

"Sir, please, sit down," the stewardess once again commanded, but the passenger didn't listen. "Marshal! _Marshal!_ "

From the aisle at the front of the plane, a man came running, dressed in an unbuttoned shirt and jeans, his weapon belt clearly visible with his shirt undone. Whatever had gotten into this passenger, he'd probably think twice about his course of action when he turned around and saw this massive, armed black man staring him down.

"Alright, sir," the air marshal ordered the creepy passenger. "Federal Air Marshal. I need you to sit down, sir. _Right now_."

The passenger didn't even turn, and just kept shambling towards the stewardess. The nametag on the girl's blue vest read "ELAINE".

"Alright," the marshal announced to all the passengers. "Everybody stay in your seats. Stay calm." He drew his baton, and Chelsea was anything but calm.

Tilly turned to her and briefly said, "I don't like this," before again focusing her attention on the aisle.

The marshal, his weapon ready, reached for the passenger. "Sir. Sit down or I will use force."

With a _clack_ , the baton extended. The marshal's other hand hovered above the passenger's shoulder.

The marshal's hand and the passenger's shoulder touched, and flight UA942 was doomed.

It happened so fast, nobody had time to react, not even the marshal himself. The passenger whirled around, and with a guttural cry, buried his teeth in the side of the marshal's throat. The stewardess threw her hands in front of her mouth and screamed. The marshal fought back, shoving the rabid man off him, the collar of his beige shirt drenched with red. The baton swung down, catching the lunatic in the side of the head, but despite the terrible blow, he just kept moving, again throwing himself on the marshal, who lost balance and fell back, his attacker on top of him. Chelsea couldn't see what was happening, but the next moment, shots rang out, the first two putting two holes in the plane's ceiling, but as the marshal let out a horrible shriek, more shots sounded, the weapon's trigger being pulled by pure finger reflex. Screams and wails broke out as the bullets went through the chairs and the people occupying them. Behind Chelsea and Tilly, a young boy of no more than fifteen was shot straight in the face as he sat on his knees, reversed in his chair, his brain splattering against the ceiling. Another shot struck the overweight woman sitting next to the irritating blond guy in the chest, blood spattering on the blue vest and gold nametag of the stewardess, who just stood shrieking in terror.

"Stay doon, Chel," Tilly shouted over the chaos as people unbuckled their seatbelts and tried to scatter in all directions even though there was nowhere to go, trampling each other in the aisle and falling over each other in the seats. "Just stay doon. Fockin' 'ell."

As Chelsea looked back at the aisle, she saw the air marshal stand up, and for a moment, she thought everything was going to be alright. But then she saw his dead eyes, his deformed face, and the blood running down his chin, and she knew they were all going to die. The marshal, letting out guttural growls, grabbed the first passenger he saw, a typical Yankee jock with a football jersey, and as the young man screamed in terror, the marshal pulled him closer and the next moment, his teeth ripped out the guy's larynx.

"Oh God wha's happenin'?" Chelsea heard herself scream.

And as she looked on, her eyes wide in terror, the jock, too, snatched at a passenger, setting his teeth into his prey's throat, spraying his face with arterial blood while the marshal went after his next victim.

"Don't look! Oh geez, Chel, don't look!" Tilly screamed as the entire cabin became complete chaos, with the crazed passengers biting more and more people, who in turn, attacked even more.

The wave of bedlam was going to the back of the plane, away from Chelsea and Tilly, but there were still several crazed former passengers making their way to the front.

"Stay still, Chelsea," Tilly said, covering them with a blanket. "Maybe if we stay still, they'll nae see us."

"We can't – "

"If we fight 'em, we'll die too. Just… stay still, maybe we can get off the plane after it lands."

"There's no way they'll be able to land this plane if – "

"Yes there is. Cockpit's impenetrable. Long as that stays closed, we're safe."

But Tilly hadn't even finished her sentence before the plane veered sharply to the right, and then plunged its nose downwards. "Oh shit, what the fuck," she hissed, the world now shrunk to just the two of them, huddled beneath the blankets as the entire plane around them was a scene of panic, blood, horror and carnage. Something heavy came down on Tilly, but with her eyes shut, she endured the pain and terror. The heavy weight slid down, smacking down on the floor where their legs had been before they'd rolled themselves into balls.

Chelsea risked a quick look, and saw it was the stewardess, her face dazed from the fall, but still looking more or less alive.

Tilly put down her leg next to the girl, so the blanket half-covered her too. "Stay still," she said, "You're too beautiful to die."

"Cruh… cruh…" The stewardess tried to say, pulling her legs under the blanket.

"Shh, quiet," Chelsea hissed at her. "Don't let them hear you."

"Cra… crash p… position," Elaine the flight attendant managed to utter. "Plane… going down."

Was this woman seriously going to rattle off her stewardess spiel about those useless crash positions? "Shut up and stay still," Chelsea hissed.

"No, _you_ shu' up," Tilly snapped back at her. "Get in the crash position, it just might save our lives. Fockin' _do it_!"

As quietly as possible, even with the noise and screaming all around them, Chelsea shifted position so she sat in her chair, and tucked her head between her knees. It was too late to help the stewardess up, but it was every person for herself now.

Just before the plane ploughed into the ground, tearing itself into fiery pieces, the stewardess opened her eyes, looked straight into Chelsea's, and as tears streaked down the sides of her face, she said, "It's all my fault. It's all my fault."


	2. Day 1 - After the End

**DAY 1**

 **After the End**

"But we don't _know_ if she's infected."

The voices were the first thing she was aware of, the headache was the second. Then came the pain in the rest of her body, as if she'd been pulled through a shredder.

"Look, she's not showing any signs, there's no bites, no trauma that could point to infection. I checked."

"How thoroughly?"

"As thoroughly as decency allowed, Joel."

"If my daughter says she checked, then she checked."

Were those voices talking about her? Who was she anyway? What had happened to her?

"Still don't mean there ain't no infection."

"Come on. Let's not assume things we have no reason to assume. If Renee says there's no signs of infection, she knows what she's talking about."

"We got every reason to assume she's infected, Davis."

"Yeah? Like what? And think carefully about what you're gonna say next."

"Oh, well gee whiz, Renee, I dunno, maybe the fact that she came off a plane full of them roasted shamblers? And look, we gotta be realistic here. You ain't no a doctor, Renee. There might be – "

"My daughter is the closest thing we've got, Joel. And you should be damn glad she's here."

"I am, _I am_. And it's not that I don't trust you, Renee, but… We should at least tie her up."

Wait… her name was Chelsea. The memories came flooding back now. She'd been on a plane. And it… had crashed? She only remembered vague smears. Fire, walking through it. Something in her hand. Swinging it at someone's head. Had she killed someone? No, something. Already dead.

"I am _not_ restraining a patient before she even wakes up. My responsibility, alright, Joel? If it turns out you were right, you can blame me all you want."

"Yeah, fat lotta good that'll do me."

"Look, Joel, we all understand your concerns. But we need to trust in each other here. Renee knows what she's talking about. If we can't trust other people's judgments, it'll be hard to live together here."

Some voices were male, others female. Hard to make out which was which.

"Yeah, s'pose so. She carry any ID at least? Driver's licence, anythin'?"

She'd run for someone. Collapsed in his arms. A soldier? No, a copper. Something like it.

"Nothing. Just the clothes on her back."

"It's… a strange choice of haircut she has."

Sensation other than pain returned to her slowly. She was almost able to move.

"Yeah, it's… not what I would have chosen either."

"Hope she's not a criminal or something."

"Well kids, the world is bigger than Texas. People dress differently and cut their hair differently in other parts of the world. Doesn't mean they're criminals."

"Wonder where she's from."

"Guess we'll find out soon when she wakes up."

Open your mouth. Say something.

"It's… rude to… talk about someone… like they're… not there."

"Hell I'll be damned, she's wakin' up."

"And she doesn't sound infected," the young female voice pointed out, only a slight edge in her voice. "Hey, can you open your eyes?"

Good idea. Strange she hadn't thought of that herself. The light stung her eyes, but she managed to open them to slits. All she saw was white light, and the silhouettes of people standing over her.

"You've been out for a few days. How are you feeling?"

"Proper shite. Like… like ah got dunshed by a fockin' lorry."

"What by a what now?" This was the uneasy male voice again.

"Well," the older, calmer male voice said, "We know where she's from now. Long way from home, ain't you miss?"

"Depends…" Chelsea croaked. "Where is this?"

"You're in Splendid, Texas, dear." A female voice. Older, more motherly. Bugger, Texas. That's right, the flight was heading to Houston.

She hadn't been alone on the flight. Who'd been with her?

Oh god.

A jolt of panic went through her and her body tried to sit upright, though the pain was immense. "Tilly," she asked, her eyes wide open. "Where's Tilly? Tell me you found 'er too."

"Hey, hey," the younger woman laid her hand on her shoulder, pushing her back down. "Don't get up. I know you want to get out of bed, but please, don't."

"'Ave yeh found Tilly?"

"Who's Tilly?" the owner of the jumpy male voice said. He was a man in his late thirties, with red hair and a bit of a dumb face. He wore a copper's uniform, but it wasn't the bloke who'd caught her when she fell. That one had a moustache, she seemed to recall. Everything was just so fucking blurry.

"M-Matilda Brenning. T… Tilly's my… my best mate, she… was on the plane… with me."

There was a brief silence, and even though the faces already promised the worst, the young woman put her hand on Chelsea's and said slowly, "I'm… sorry, miss. There were only two survivors apart from you."

"One of the flight attendants made it," the man in the wheelchair said solemnly, "And a young man who is still in a coma at the moment."

Oh God no, Tilly. Tears burned in Chelsea's eyes and her already throbbing stomach contracted even further. Tilly was dead, either torn apart in a torrent of steel and fabric, or burned alive in the wreckage. No, wait. That hadn't been how she'd died. She'd survived the crash, but something had happened. She tried to snatch the memory, but it flitted up, out of reach. Oh God Tilly…

"We're all…" the man in the wheelchair told her, "… very sorry for your loss."

The older woman laid her hand on the shoulder of the younger girl and shook her head, muttering, "We've all lost so god damn much."

"Hey but guys, most important thing's that we're still alive, ain't it?" the ginger copper said, trying to sound positive. Chelsea was certain his particular brand of dull-minded optimism was useful at times, but for her, it wasn't a time for optimism. Not just now. Not when she'd lost her best friend, who'd been a sister in all things except blood.

When Chelsea's parents had begun their destructive spiral of alcohol, adultery and anti-depressants, which had eventually led to their painful and explosive divorce, Tilly had always stood by Chelsea, even convincing her own parents to take her in, to spare her the worst of the destructive situations at home. At first, those periods only lasted a few days, but as time went on, they lasted longer and longer, until eventually, Chelsea spent more nights at Tilly's house than her own. In fact, she'd often secretly hoped her parents would blow the lid off again so she could stay with her friend, where the atmosphere was friendly and light. People actually talked at the dinner table, made jokes, shared chores and wished each other good night.

And Tilly had been the best friend anyone could ever wish for. She'd never lorded her privileged position over Chelsea, apart from occasionally calling her a chavette in jest, never used it as any sort of leverage or excuse for condescension. Her sexuality had become more and more ambiguous as she got older, but she'd never, ever said a word or laid a hand on Chelsea in anything other than friendship. On free days, they'd spent mornings walking Tilly's dog and chatting, afternoons at the snooker hall with Tilly's friends, with not a single one of them making rotten comments about Chelsea's cheap track trousers, worn running shoes and faded T-shirts. At first, they held their mouths out of respect for Tilly, but after a while, they accepted Chelsea as one of their own, with Tilly affirming that this was all Chelsea's merit. 'You need to be very good with people to make bunch of posh public schoolers forget you're a total chav', she'd always said. Never patronizing, always with a smile.

Poor Tilly. Without her, Chelsea was positive she'd gone down an entirely different path. How rotten the irony, then, that it had been Tilly who'd convinced her to take this flight, to start down the same path she'd always kept her off in the past.

"Joel's… got a point," the handicapped man brought her back to the present. "We're still alive, and we have each other. We should focus on the present for now."

"Speaking of havin' each other," the older woman said, "It'd be nice if we knew what to call you, hun."

Oh, right, names would be useful. And introductions might keep her distracted from the horrible reality of what had happened to Tilly. "Sure, yeah. Name's Chelsea."

"Welcome to Splendid, Chelsea," the man in the wheelchair said with a smile. He looked to be about forty years old, with a dark brown, typical dad-haircut and observant, patient eyes. His face was pleasant and kind, which of course, didn't guarantee that the owner was the same. "I'm Davis. Davis Cray."

"I'm Anita Cass," the older, burly woman said, "And this is my daughter, Renee." Yes, it was clear they were mother and daughter. Mom had a darker skin tone, and her black hair was tied back in a short, messy pony tail, but even with her lighter skin and longer, light brown hair, Renee was clearly her mother's daughter, albeit a younger, prettier and less manly version, because mom looked like she built railroads or fought bears for a living. Her daughter looked much more frail, gentle and girlish. Both of them, however, had kind, warm eyes.

"Joel Oswalt. Well, _Deputy_ Joel Oswalt, I s'pose," the ginger-haired, freckled copper with the rather dumb-looking face said. "Though I ain't sure if any of that matters anymore."

"So, Chelsea," the young doctor-or-at-least-something-like-it said. "Is it just Chelsea, or…?"

"Jayne," she croaked. "Chelsea Jayne."

"How 'bout a last name?" the copper asked.

"Uh, what?" She'd just told him.

The man in the wheelchair chuckled. "Christ, Joel. I know we're in Texas, but that doesn't mean we should reinforce the three-names cliché."

Oh, like that. "Yeah, no, Jayne is my last name." It wasn't a name she wore with pride, but it was hers.

"Alright," the younger woman said. "We'll do the rest of the introductions later. Mom, boys, I'm sure there's something you can do around the school. I need to give our new housemate a check-up. Go on, out."

The young doctor watched the three others go, with the deputy pulling the wheelchair-bound man up the stairs in agonizing slowness, then turned to Chelsea. "Alright, Chelsea. Let's try sitting up."

She held out her hand, and Chelsea took it. Despite a monstrous headache, sitting up wasn't that horrible. Nothing seemed to be broken, just rattled and bruised.

"Nothing feel like it's leaking?" the girl asked.

What kind of question was that? "Uh… no, why?"

"Well…" she explained, "You could still die of internal bleeding."

She didn't even notice she put her hand on her own belly. "Don't you… doctors have… more advanced methods of detectin' internal bleedin', like?" It was difficult to make the Northern accent less obvious, felt forced somehow. As if she was back in school.

The girl laughed nervously, the fatigue on her pretty face temporarily gone. "I'm sure they do, but… well, in the absence of a doctor, it falls to the vet to patch people up."

"Wait, you're a veterinarian?"

With a shrug, the girl said, "People are animals too. The underlying machinery, it's not, I mean… that much of a difference."

Holding the business end of a stethoscope, Renee's hand went under Chelsea's shirt, and Chelsea had to wince from the cold metal. The stethoscope came off a few times, only to attach itself to a different spot. "Inhale as far as you can. Mm, alright." She took the stethoscope out of her ears and said, "Well, as far as I know, you're in pretty good condition. I suggest a day of non-strenuous activity and plenty of rest, and you'll feel like new in no time."

Wait a second, something didn't match up, even for a layman like Chelsea. "Wait, but… if there's nowt wrong with me, then how was I in a coma for what, two days, like?"

The girl grinned sheepishly and looked away. "I uh… may have kept you in one?"

"Wha'? Why?"

"Well," she explained, looking guilty, "It was just Davis and me here, so I kept you under 'til mom and Joel came back. I couldn't risk it, sorry."

What was she talking about? She'd survived a plane crash, not like there was a serious danger of her being a violent criminal. "Risk wha'?"

She blinked. "You… don't know? Or don't remember?"

A terrifying feeling crawled into Chelsea's belly. "Don't remember wha'?"

"I… had to see if you weren't infected."

What the Hell was she going on about? "What d'you mean, infected?" But before the girl could answer, the memories came back. Of the plane, of people snarling and clawing and biting at each other. The Federal Air Marshal first being taken down by that one crazed passenger, and then becoming just like him. The entire plane turning into a maelstrom of violence and blood and death. Her eyes locking with the blue ones of a blonde girl who said, 'it's all my fault'.

"Yeah," Renee said, " _That_ kind of infected."

"Oh fuck this," Chelsea said, swinging her legs over the edge of the bed, ignoring the pain from her bruised bones. "I've got to get 'ome. My ma and da are wankers, but I've got to let 'em know I'm alright. And Tilly's parents – "

Renee's hand touched down on Chelsea's shoulder. "Chelsea… it wasn't just your plane."

"You wot?"

She sighed, looked down, and said, "It's the entire world. It… just happened. All in a few days. Your plane was one of the last ones that made it off the ground. As far as we know, this happened all over the planet."

No way, this was ridiculous. "What, like some kind of zombie apocalypse shite? You takin' the piss?"

"Taking the… ? No, no, Chelsea, I'm not joking, or lying, or anything else. It's definitely the entire United States, and the last reports we heard before they stopped broadcasting indicate that at least Eurasia and South America are in the same situation."

This wasn't happening. "Yeah, but… Britain's an island, yeah? I mean, the infection might 'ave – "

"Chelsea," the girl said gently. "The infection was on your plane. And where did your plane depart from?"

She fell silent. The girl was right, at least if this whole thing was true and not just some overblown local outbreak.

"I'm sorry, Chelsea. I know it's a lot to take in, but you have to accept that, well… many people are dead. Almost everyone. All over the world. Except maybe Greenland and Madagascar."

No, there had to be a way. "Sod tha'. We're livin' in an age of cell phones. Maybe if I can call 'em, they'll – "

"No more phones either," Renee said quietly. "You'd be… surprised how quickly modern technology breaks down if there's nobody to maintain it."

"Then I'm bloody well _walkin'_ to England. And when I reach the shore, I'll fuckin' swim."

"Look," Renee calmed her. "Whatever you want to do, I'm sure it can wait for an hour or two, right? You'll feel lots better after a shower and some fresh clothes. You were uh… clinging to your hand baggage from the plane when we found you. Pretty sure your hold luggage can't be recovered, but your trolley's got a change of clothes at least.

A hot flash blasted up through Chelsea's torso. Oh shite, they'd gone through her bags. Oh bloody Hell. "Y… you went through my things?"

"No, no," Renee quickly told her. "I just opened your bag and took out a fresh T-shirt for you, so you wouldn't have to wake up, well…"

Just a T-shirt. She hadn't looked inside, she couldn't have looked inside. "But that's all you did? Right?"

"Yes, that's all." She held up two fingers. "I swear. I just took out a shirt, nothing more. I left your briefs on, but your pants and shirt were torn, bloody and ruined." With a weak smile, she quipped, "I wouldn't want to stumble on any uh… One Direction CDs or My Little Pony plushies."

Inwardly, she breathed a sigh of relief. This was about more than privacy. "Alright, cheers. I… appreciate the respect for my personal shite."

She shook her head and smiled. "Not a problem at all. We've got showers at the gym, upstairs. The generator's fuelled and working, for now, so have a nice, long, warm one. You'll feel better, and you'll be able to put your thoughts in order a bit."

It might be best. She sighed and rubbed her eyes. Renee was right, whatever had to be done now, an hour or two wouldn't make a difference. And a shower _would_ feel great. She tried to stand, and with some wobbling of her legs, actually succeeded. Renee held her hand for a bit, but noticed she could let go just fine, without Chelsea falling over.

"Come on, let me show you to the showers. They're just upstairs."

Her bare feet didn't feel very comfortable on the rough concrete basement stairs, but the prospect of a shower and a change of clothes made it bearable. Renee held her trolley, the only thing that had made it out of the plane crash with her. Tilly hadn't, and neither had any of her stuff. Or the people. Again the memory of her friend flitted up, out of reach.

"Don't worry," Renee assured her. "Davis is in the radio room and Joel is out patrolling the fence. Only one who can see you in your undies is mom, and she's got a daughter your age."

Renee pushed the door open and they were on the ground floor, in a corridor, painted white, with yellow lockers on either side. She knew those types of lockers. "Wait, wha's this then? A gym?"

"Better than that," Renee said with a smile. "This is Splendid High School. A proud bastion of learning at some point, probably, but now the only place we know of that hasn't fallen to the infected yet."

"So… of all the places here in America, the only thing that survived was a school?" The morning air was cold on her bare legs. From the temperature, she estimated it to be around six in the morning. The pale early light falling in through the windows told her she wasn't very far off.

"Not the only place, maybe, but certainly the only one we know about. Mom and Joel have been outside yesterday, and they didn't encounter anyone who wasn't, well… either lying dead in the streets or walking dead in the streets."

"So wha' about the military? I thought you Americans spent billions on your war machine? They can't have all died or, well, turned?"

Renee shrugged while she supported Chelsea as they went to the gym showers. "If there are soldiers still alive, I haven't seen any. But Joel and a few of the other deputies survived, and the sheriff too, so maybe… maybe they're still out there, but we haven't seen them or heard from them yet."

This was still too unreal to take in. It felt like they were just acting in a play, saying words but not actually meaning them. None of it felt real, none of it felt as if it had actually happened. Chelsea half-expected her new friends to suddenly shout 'Surprise!' and admit they'd been jerking her around. But if they were leading her on, they hadn't shown it so far. This entire thing was crazy.

"Here we go," Renee said, Chelsea needing her support less and less. "Ladies' showers. You… gonna be alright by yourself?"

Chelsea chuckled. "I've nae showered with another lass, and I've got no mind to start now. An' I'm no' an old fart, I don't need to be washed."

Renee smiled back and said, "Alright, but if there's anything, just shout, alright?"

"Thanks, I will."

She waited until Renee had left, then opened her trolley. She'd shower, but there was something she needed to take care of first, before anything else.

 **DAY 1**

 **Morning**

The shower had worked wonders. It had revitalised her, made her feel clean and refreshed, and also importantly, given her time to think. Time to get her thoughts together, to process everything she'd been told, and to let a few realizations sink in.

The first one had been that right now, there was no way to go find her family, or Tilly's. There would be no way to inform them of what had happened to their daughters. If there even was still a 'them' to speak of.

The second one had followed from the first: if there was no way to get to her family, then she was best off staying here for the time being. These people seemed decent enough, not hardened soldiers, but kind-hearted and resourceful enough to survive where so many people had died. Including, probably, those hardened soldiers.

And thirdly, it was true. She couldn't remember much of what had happened between the crash and waking up here, but one of the things that did stick in her mind was the dazed memory of slamming her trolley down on the head of something that looked human, but shambled and moaned. She and it had been one of the very few things to survive the plane crash. Well, 'survive'… When it had lunged at her, she'd brought her trolley down on its head with the last of her strength, sending it to the ground with a lucky blow, and then she'd grabbed a piece of sharp, twisted metal from the fuselage of the plane and driven it through the creature's eyes, destroying the brain behind them. She'd staggered a few steps, and then there had been a copper's uniform, right before she passed out. That was all she remembered.

So this would be her new life, at least for a time. She'd find a way to get back to Old Blighty, but there were no planes to hop on, no boats to book a cabin on. It would be a while before she'd find a way to cross the ocean, and during that time, the first requirement was to survive. The people in this school seemed alright, and she'd have a much better chance of surviving by sticking with them, at least for the time being.

She turned the water off with great reluctance, towelled and got dressed, putting on a fresh T-shirt and her old track trousers. The gym locker rooms here were as sterile and bare as the ones in Britain, but there were no voices livening it up now, no girls talking about the lads, no towels being whipped, no indignant outcries about misplaced hairbrushes. Just her, under the fluorescent lights, and nothing but white tiles, white sinks and red shower cabin doors with their typical red plastic knobs.

Chelsea guessed a lot of things in life had probably changed in the same manner now.

Renee sat waiting for her on one of the school benches in the corridor, reading a magazine. "Oh, hey. Feeling better?"

"I am, thanks." Physically, at least.

"That's good," she said with a smile, standing up, carefully closing the magazine and placing it on the bench. Reading material would doubtless be in short supply soon, depending on the size of this school's library. "Like I said, take it easy today. Get to know the school and the people. Well, not that there's so many of them. No strenuous activity today, alright?"

She nodded, "Understood, doc."

Another smile, this one embarrassed. "I'm not a doctor."

Chelsea half-shrugged and said, "You're the closest thing we've got, apparently, to use the old cliché, so might as well give yourself some credit."

"You've got a point. Anyway, again, no antics. No climbing trees, no punching bears and no sliding under a speeding truck on horseback, you hear?"

"I hear."

"And if my mother tries to fuss you into helping her repair the fence, tell her I'll send her to her room with no dinner."

She felt herself grin. "I'll do that."

"Well, I need to go check on our last comatose patient." She spread her arms and slowly twirled around. "Explore your new kingdom. You'll probably be staying here a while." She abruptly stopped, remembering something. "Oh! And if you go upstairs, you'll see someone who doesn't say anything and just sits there. Be real gentle with her, and don't be surprised if she doesn't answer you or even acknowledge you."

Huh? Someone just sat there without saying anything? "Wha's wrong with 'er?"

"I don't know," Renee said with a sigh. "She was only superficially injured when we found her, and physically, she seems perfectly fine, but… it's like her mind's… gone? Paralyzed? I don't know."

"What? That's weird."

"Not necessarily," Renee said. "Could be severe emotional shock. If so, she might come out of it if we give it time."

"Alright."

Feeling revitalized and only hurting when she moved too quickly, Chelsea took the time to explore her new home. It was a school alright, although it was far emptier than schools tended to be during the day. No running kids, no fussing teachers, no 'jocks' throwing the books of a 'nerd' to the ground, or whatever it was they did in American schools. Then again, the only American schools she'd ever seen had been on TV, where teachers were supermodels, students were supermodels, and no one was under 25 years old.

The place was in disrepair, to say the least. Funding for American schools wasn't anywhere near the same as in Britain, and with teachers and schools scandalously underpaid (or so she'd been told), the school system and infrastructure here were of significantly lesser calibre.

The gym was nothing more than a big room with a plank floor and a basketball hoop. There were a few mats and gymnastics devices, but they were all old and looked pretty unreliable. That was no big deal, Chelsea doubted anyone had the time or the energy to take up Olympic gymnastics, but still, recreation seemed pretty important if they were going to be stuck here for a while, and you couldn't play basketball forever. Especially since Chelsea was ghastly at it.

Through the window, she saw the deputy patrolling the fence, looking nervous as Hell. Might as well take the time to get to know the guy. If he was in charge of security here, she feared for their long-term survival. From the looks of him, he was every bit the stereotype of a backwater deputy who'd never actually seen any action apart from a traffic violation, and he probably asked for backup on those things too.

Still, she knew how shitty it was when people judged other people based purely on appearances, and just like she didn't want to be seen as an antisocial charver, this guy probably didn't want to be seen as an incompetent Keystone Cop, if that was the American term.

"Eya, Joel," she greeted him after pushing open the emergency doors that led outside.

"Oh hello, uh, Chelsea, was it?" Not being able to remember a name must be a serious liability in his profession, but she tried not to judge.

"Aye, it was. So… out on patrol?"

He nodded, apparently happy to have someone to talk to. She couldn't blame him, it must get lonely walking the perimeter all day. He tapped the wire fence with the palm of his hand. It gave a short _clink_. "That's right. We ain't got no fence to speak of. Damn thing was in the middle of bein' repaired when the uh… when things went bad. There's gaps everywhere, might as well not exist." He let out a short, nervous laugh. His accent was as Texan as they came, clearly a man who was born and raised here. She reminded herself to speak proper English as much as she could.

"Seen any of them come this way yet?"

He shrugged. "Nah, not yet, but that don't mean it can't happen any minute. I don't think they've found this place yet. Hope they never do, but I know that'd be too good to be true."

"Aye. 'Ave you… seen any of them? What are they even?" She realized now that apart from a vague memory, she didn't even know who those infected were.

"Only from a distance," he said. "School's not in a residential area, thank God, so there ain't too many around. Anita an' me tired looking around a bit, but there's no place we could really score some supplies without having to, you know, encounter 'em…" he sighed. "As for what they are, all I know is that it's some kind of virus, transmits through bites, apparently. Makes people ill at first, then violent and mindless. Turns 'em into, well…"

"Zombies?"

"I was tryin' to avoid the word, but yeah. Zombies. Renee can tell you more than I can. All I do is watch for 'em an' hope they don't come too close."

"What's it like… out there?"

He looked away. "From what little we've seen, it ain't good. Haven't encountered a living soul, no signs of life… an' I'm pretty sure the smoke we've seen hasn't been from people tryin' to communicate."

"There's got to have been more people who survived?"

He scratched the back of his head. "I honestly don't know. Maybe there ain't. Maybe it's just us."

No. Chelsea refused to think that way. "Tha's old bollocks. If you lot managed to survive, so did others. I mean, there's people out there with military trainin', soldiers, cops, biker gangs. Some of 'em must've survived. If we assume we were the only ones who survived, we might as well lay down an' die."

He nodded. "I s'pose you're right. But shit, I ain't seen no one yet, that's all I can say. Only thing I'm certain of is, we're seriously screwed."

Chelsea wished the guy would stop being such a damn complainer. "Then we'll unscrew ourselves, yeah? What've you got in terms of weapons?"

He sighed. "My gun. My baton. Anita's sledgehammer. Renee's got a big knife to defend herself with in emergencies. There's probably some junk in the janitor's closet. An' Davis… shit, I don't even know. Prob'ly nuthin'."

"That's… proper paltry, innit?"

"It's not much, no, if that's what you mean. In fact, once you're feelin' better, I was thinkin' we might risk a scavengin' run to a hardware store not too far from here. Snatch us some tools, materials, Hell, even a weapon or two if we're lucky."

The prospect didn't exactly fill her with enthusiasm, but unscrewing themselves would entail doing stuff that wasn't a hundred percent safe, there was no getting around that. "… Out there, huh?"

"I don't like it any more'n you do. But if we wanna eat, we gotta scavenge. Plus, this shitty excuse for a fence is worthless right now, an' we need materials 'n' tools to get it back in order." He suddenly looked embarrassed. "Pardon my language just now."

"I'm from the North," she laughed. "I've 'eard an' said things a hundred times worse, yeah? An' if scavengin's our only option, then that's what we gotta do. Even if it's dangerous"

He nodded. "I'd lie if I said it wasn't. But if we keep quiet, we should be fine. You any good at sneakin' around?"

"Uh… Can't say that I am, but I mean, never been tested on it or anythin' either."

"Hm. Guess we'll have to see, huh?"

"S'pose so." She was none too eager to go out there, with the world being the way it, apparently, was, but she realized she couldn't just count on a free ride. These people had taken her in and sheltered her, so it was only fair she worked to earn her keep.

"Fired a gun before?"

"You barmy? In England? Did play a lot of Unreal Tournament in my youth. Even got one or two Godlike killin' sprees. Against bots, though."

He made a face. "Any weapons training?"

She might as well be honest, "Not really, but I've had my share of pub fights with other girls. Usually came out on top if that counts? 'Cept this one time when some radgie bitch grabbed me by the… Nevermind."

"Better'n nuthin' I s'pose," he said wearily. Chelsea had a feeling this guy was also firmly in the 'better than nothing' category, but she kept her mouth shut. "Anyway, once Vic and the Sheriff get back, we'll be able to organize a proper scoutin' group."

"Vic?"

"Vic Castillo, my colleague. He's out with the Sheriff, lookin' for survivors. Won't be back until next week, probably. Bastard took the last bottle of hot sauce with him, too." He chuckled. "Could sure go for a burnin' hot burrito right 'bout now."

"Right," she chuckled. Hunger hadn't been the first thing on her mind until now, but now that the copper had mentioned it, her stomach let out a discrete little growl. She hoped the school still had some food stocked, and that it wasn't all tins of peas and corned beef. "Hey, I'm goin' ta get acquainted with some more people, yeah?"

"Sure," Joel said with a shrug. "If you're gonna be stayin' here, might as well get to know everyone."

"Whey aye."

She continued her tour of the school, wandering the grounds outside. It wasn't much, just a front lawn and a strip of grass behind the building, but at least that made the whole place easier to defend. On the other side of the lawn was Renee's mother, Anita, hauling stones and dumping them on top of each other to make a provisional wall of sorts where the fence had collapsed.

"Heya Anita."

"Oh hi, dear," Anita grunted, lifting up another massive stone, her biceps bulging in her short sleeves. She clunked it down and wiped her brow with the kerchief tied around her neck. Chelsea didn't think she'd even be able to lift a stone that size at all. "I don't even know why I'm wasting my time, without tools, no cement… I'd ask you to give me a hand with the fence, but my daughter would kill me, as she's probably told you already." She took the glass of lemonade set on a stool nearby and drank. "At least I've got an excuse to take a break." She held out the glass. "Want some?"

The morning chill was out of the air and the temperature was rising fast, now, and Chelsea certainly didn't mind some refreshment. She took the glass and permitted herself a modest sip. "Thanks." The lemonade was sour and sweet at the same time, but sadly lukewarm.

Anita dropped herself on the stool and sighed. "I swear, buildin' this wall… Only thing worse is having to go outside where them dead things are. I just… Jesus, just the thought of these things freaks me out. Specially the fact they were people once."

Chelsea stuffed her hands in her pockets. "I've… heard things, yeah."

Anita looked up at her, blinking against the sweat in her eyes. "Dear, there's something I need to ask. You know, speaking of the outside."

"Oh, sure, wha'?" The sun was up in full force now, burning on the shaved sides of her head. If she kept standing here, the light purple of her short mohawk would bleach so much she'd end up with pink hair.

"It's about Renee."

"Mm?"

"Well," she began, taking another gulp of lemonade, "you know we've all got our jobs here, right? Davis is our radio man, Joel patrols the perimeter, I make pathetic attempts to _build_ the damn perimeter, and Renee, well, you know what she does. Only one here without a job is you, currently."

That was true, though Chelsea couldn't see what this had to do with Renee. "I s'pose I'll be put to work soon enough?"

Anita nodded. "We've been talkin', and there's a good chance you'll get to be in charge of the scavengin' parties." Great, she was going to have to do all the dangerous work. "I know," Anita chuckled, "Ain't fair, but well, you're the new kid, right?"

"Yeah," she had to admit. "Wouldn't be proper to just sit on my arse all day." That didn't mean she wasn't pretty damn terrified of going out there, but on the other hand, she knew she'd have to earn her keep, and with no special skills nor the strength to lug stones around, there wasn't much else she could do apart from scavenging. Besides, she had no intention of just sitting around waiting for the end of the world, insofar as anything of the world was still left to be ended.

"Anyway, what I wanted to ask you…" Anita asked, getting back to her feet. "Don't let my daughter come along. Not even if she asks. If you need some backup out there, I'm here for you. Just… don't put my little girl in danger, she's all I got left."

Chelsea could understand the request. "I weren't about to risk our only medic anyway. But you do know she's probably gun' ask me the same thing right?"

She sighed. "Probably, yes. But I mean, even though you're young, you can probably understand why a mother would never risk her daughter's life if there's any possible way to avoid it."

"Sure, yeah. I mean, from the looks of it, we won't last long if we don't go out for supplies, but that doesn't mean we have to just put everyone's lives on the line. Pretty sure your daughter will do more good if she's here to patch people up."

Anita nodded. "My thoughts exactly. This work I'm doing here is pointless without cement and tools, and without the proper parts anyway, so I might as well come with you when you scout around." She looked at the bushes surrounding the school and tried to hide a shudder. "Though I sure as Hell ain't keen on going out there."

"Makes two of us," Chelsea could only say. "I'm thinkin' maybe Joel could come along too? I mean, I'm not sure how good a copper he is, but he is one, and that should count for summat, right?"

She shrugged. "I'm not sure either, but at least he's got a gun."

Chelsea supposed that counted for something too. "So um, Imma go look 'round the school a bit, see if there's anythin' we can use. Y'know, ransack closets, vandalize vendin' machines. Stuff a chav like me's good at."

"A what?"

"Nevermind, heh. See you later."

"Take care, hun."

She spent the rest of the day performing the non-strenuous activity of searching the entire school building and gathering everything that was potentially usable in a large store-room behind the kitchen. The storage itself was mostly empty, aside from some mouldy fruit and pointless junk that probably hadn't even been useful back in the day when the school was actually used for its intended purpose. She gathered all the useless clutter in two large trash bags and deposited those against the back wall of the school, in a corner where they were out of the way. Then she began taking the less useless stuff to the storage room and organizing things somewhat. It wasn't her strong point, at all, but at least this way she kept herself busy, plus she could maybe find some things that could serve as weapons. She doubted that there were any firearms or pieces of actual weaponry lying around – in spite of the stereotype of American schools – but in a pinch, tools could serve as weapons. She imagined a blow to the skull from a claw hammer hurt just as much as one from a telescopic baton. Well, close to it, at least.

She wasted no time ransacking the school's vending machines either. They mostly contained trash excuses for food like mars bars, fizzy drinks and packets of crisps, but if nothing else, those things provided a few calories and would help against grumbling stomachs. Even fuckin' kets an' pop. After her raid on the vending machines was done, there were twelve cans of carbonated liquid sugar and eight bars of solidified fat with sugar on the shelf, as well as three packets of fried starch caked with salt. Not exactly a king's bounty, and certainly not food that had anything useful in terms of nutritional value, but it would get them through the day. The basement had not given up anything edible, but the boiler room had contained a very modest collection of tools, like screwdrivers, pliers, and even a semi-decent claw hammer. The screwdrivers would be a dubious choice for a weapon, capable of inflicting nothing more impressive than a painful stab wound, but the hammer's grip lay comfortably in her hand, and the weight gave her some reassurance. Unless she found something better, this would be her weapon for now.

The search went on. Any hope of finding something that could serve as protection in the gym was dashed, when she saw that the American football team had left their equipment storage mostly empty. Unfortunate. The poncy padding they wore during their favourite sport, unlike real men who played rugby and wore only a jersey, could potentially have been very useful to protect against the gnashing teeth and flailing claws of the infected. She let out a grunt of disappointment, but then one thing caught her eye: a lone baseball bat had been left leaning against the wall in the corner. She'd seen enough movies to know that those things could knock more than baseballs around. She figured the strongest person in the group tomorrow would be best served with it, so she made a mental note to pass it to Anita before they left.

Next was the library. There was no point emptying the bookshelves only to stack the books somewhere else, so she left them there. If anyone wanted to read, they knew where to go. The kitchen was pitifully understocked, with the fridge even being out of order, but there was a nice assortment of knives, though dulled with use, to be found. She took one decently-sized kitchen knife with her, to serve as a back-up weapon for her hammer. Apart from that, the place was decently-furnished, although sadly only with items that served a purpose in a kitchen and nowhere else.

On the west side of the building lay a laughable excuse for a science lab, which really wasn't much more than a few tables, some sinks and a handful of Bunsen burners, and opposite this so-called lab was a workshop, this place, too, woefully underequipped. There were a few wrenches, pliers, and other assorted implements, but nothing that would be of any use at the moment. Going out the side door, however, she saw something that might just be very interesting.

"It's not runnin'," Joel's voice came from the other side of the clearing. He came towards her. "Dunno what's wrong with it, but won't even start."

Maybe it was a dead battery, because the SUV itself looked like it was in a very decent state. But then she saw the dried oil stain under its tyres and the dent in its front grille and she realized the radiator was probably damaged. Not exactly something you could fix with a flick of the wrist. She wondered if anyone knew anything about repairing machinery. Probably not.

"Anita used to be a truck driver, she gave it a once-over and said the only way this car'll still run is if there's a real mechanic with the necessary parts workin' on it." He scratched his ginger hair. "Plus, I mean, it's not like we've got the fuel to spare to keep it runnin' for any length of time either."

"That problem can be taken care of at least," Chelsea said. "We'll try to siphon some fuel from dunshed cars when we get a chance tomorrow."

"Mm."

"Right, I best get back to it."

"Sure."

Going back inside, she went up the stairs, to the first floor. There was next to nothing here, just classrooms, empty apart from loads of desks and chairs. She noticed a few makeshift beds here and there, put together by tying chairs to each other and softening the seats with folded blankets. Not comfortable, but better than the floor, probably. It'd be nice if they could score some inflatable mattresses during their scavenging run, but that was probably too much to ask.

As she walked between the classrooms, she saw a girl sitting on a bench in the corridor, her head down and her hands in her lap. Oh, right, this must be… But wait, Chelsea recognized the blonde hair, and when she came closer, the name-tag with "ELAINE" on it confirmed what she suspected. This was the flight attendant, the one who'd fallen over on top of Tilly and Chelsea, the one who Tilly had considered 'too beautiful to die'. Who had, for some reason, said before the crash that it was 'all her fault'. So this was the person Renee had described as being 'paralyzed'. Maybe she'd open up to someone who'd been with her on the plane. It was worth a try.

She kneeled down at the bench and looked up at the girl. Her face was wet with tears, her eyes red and swollen. "… Hello?"

The girl only sniffed in response.

"Elaine… can you hear me?"

There was no response. The only thing the stewardess did was stare at her own hands.

Gently, Chelsea laid a hand on the girl's knee. "Hey… you alright?"

A shudder went through the girl and her shoulders hitched, but she still didn't seem to even register Chelsea's presence.

"Tha's alright, just take your time, yeah? I'll be here when you're ready to talk." She made a mental note to bring the girl some food and drink later. If she truly was completely catatonic, she'd be a drain on resources with no benefit, but for now, Chelsea simply hoped she'd come around, given time and patience. Whatever had happened to her, it must have traumatized her immensely… at least if she hadn't suffered brain damage or something of the sort. There were no visible head injuries but Sarah suspected there didn't always have to be. Time would tell.

She left the girl to her demons and continued her search, mostly to no avail. There were plenty of chairs and desks, but no beds or other worthwhile pieces of furniture. Nothing worth taking, and since it was the summer holiday, most of the students' lockers would be empty. She broke them open with the claw hammer regardless, but the contents were disappointing. There was a rotten apple, a lot of scrunched-up text books, stinky gym clothes, pictures of naked ladies, and one packet of sandwiches so old it fell apart into blue powder when she touched it. Yum. One of the last lockers she checked though, had a working mp3-player inside. That was good news, the fact that the player's hard drive had been filled with nothing but dubstep was much less good news. Fucking hipsters. Still, if they got the library computer working, perhaps they could rip some worthwhile CD's onto it and provide the mp3-player with something else than this shite pseudo-music.

The whole scouting session had taken more time than she'd expected, and when the grumbling of her stomach made her realize she'd lost track of time, she noticed it was late afternoon already. Time to treat herself to a royal meal of a snickers bar and that ghastly stuff known as Mountain Dew. "Gamer Fuel", this variant was called. As if all those flavours weren't just all water and sugar. Or wait, not even sugar. She'd read about that, in the United States they used something called high fructose corn syrup, because regular sugar wasn't harmful enough apparently.

The sad excuse for a meal left a sticky taste in her mouth, but at least her stomach was filled for a while. The only person she hadn't spoken to yet was Davis, the man in the wheelchair. She wondered what his job was. She stuck her head into the nurse's office and asked, "Eya, Renee, wha's Davis' job? I mean, where do I find 'im?"

Renee was busy organising what little medical supplies were left in the nurse's office. There was a man in one of the beds, motionless. "Oh, he's in the principal's off – I mean, radio room. Just across the hall from here."

"Cheers."

Indeed, on the other side of the hallway was a door with a brass plaque that said, PRINCIPAL'S OFFICE. After a quick knock on the door, she went in.

"Oh, hello, dear. Finding the school a bit to your liking?"

She had to grin at that. "Want an honest answer?"

He smiled back. "Probably not, no. Well, it ain't much, but it's home. And this here," he swept his arm around the modest office, "is my place of business. I monitor the radio, mostly. Ain't much else I can do with this wheelchair, although it's more than most people expect."

"Are there… any radio calls comin' in?"

He sighed. "Sometimes. A lot of it's just pre-recorded emergency broadcasts, but I do have one actual, livin', breathin' radio station comin' in every so often."

Her heart leapt. That wasn't just good news, that was _great_ news. "Really? So there's still, like a DJ? Playin' music? A live DJ?"

He'd noticed how the fact had exhilarated her and his smile widened. "Yes, there is. Mind, he's all alone in the middle of God-knows-where, but yes, he's still on the air, alive and… well, somewhat well." He made a face. "His stories about chafing palms are something I could do without."

She shrugged, her good cheer unassailable by TMI-problems. "Man's gotta do summat."

"I rather he read a book. But hey, You settlin' in alright?"

"As well as can be, given the circumstances. Everyone's been really welcoming, even though I'm really just another gob to feed."

"Uh… yes."

She stuffed her hands in the pockets of her track pants. "So uh, tell me a bit aboot yourself?"

"You mean, how did I get stuck in this wheelchair?" His face was without expression, but his eyes were friendly. She hoped.

"Well… not what I was gonna ask, but yeah, s'pose I'd be lyin' if I said I wasn't curious."

"It's alright, I mean, it's there, so people will wonder. Hold on." He fiddled with the radio buttons a bit, but all that came out was static. "Damn it. So yeah, I was a firefighter. Tryin' to pull off a heroic rescue, got crushed by a burning beam instead. I'm lucky they got me out in time." With a smile, he added quickly, "Yes, _lucky_. Wheelchair or no, every day I'm happy I'm alive."

"Good. I mean, it's only a wheelchair, right?" She hoped that hadn't come out all wrong, but he merely nodded, "Exactly. How 'bout you, young lady? Let's hear it."

"Well," she replied, "I'm just a regular Northern English lass. Was on uh, holiday to Texas, with my marra. Sorry, my best friend. Y'know, seein' the world before we became wageslaves an' tha'? But yeh, then this shite happened, an' here I am."

He nodded. "Once again, I'm sorry about your friend."

"So am I. She was… well." She felt her eyes tear up, so she steered the conversation away. God dammit, Tilly. If only… "But yeah, now I'm stuck 'ere, an' gotta get 'ome somehow."

"Mm. Best of luck with that." He sounded like he actually meant it, not being sarcastic.

"So. I been talkin' to the people 'ere, an' they seem to agree that I should um… be the one scavengin'?"

He folded his fingers over his belly, leaned back, and flatly said, "Well, if you've got no other skills, then yes, I s'pose that's the best thing you can do."

Well, that was that, then. Everyone was unanimous. Chelsea was going to risk life and limb. She figured it made sense, much as she disliked it. They couldn't live off kets and pop forever, and someone had to get out there. And to be entirely honest with herself, she also realized her own need to find others, and the only way to do that would be to wake up, get up, get out there. It would be dangerous, but it was preferable to sitting here waiting to starve. And this way, she could give back to the people who'd saved her. Because they had, and she didn't intend to forget it.

"Yeh. Seems like I'll be the one plodgin' through the toon."

"Uh… yes."

"Renee told me to stay in today though, so it'll have to be tomorrow." She didn't mind the respite. Plenty of time to get eaten by zombies, if that was what they were, after some sleep – real sleep, not the artificial coma she'd been kept in.

"Sure, yeah. No point getting yourself killed when you're still recovering."

"Mm."

"Well," he grunted, shifting in his wheelchair, "I s'pose I best be startin' dinner. Canned beans and corned beef."

"Dinner of champions."

"I tell you," he laughed, wheeling himself out, "I'll be very happy when you come back tomorrow with some decent food. Oh! And coffee!" his eyes sparkled at the thought. "Good, whole-bean coffee, none of that freeze dried junk."

Chelsea walked with him to the kitchen (she figured it'd be insensitive to offer to push his wheelchair, since Davis seemed to be a man who prided himself on his independence), and opened a few cans of, indeed, beans and corned beef, sploshing them in a glass microwave dish and warming them up. After Davis rang the school bell (apparently it wasn't loud enough to carry beyond the school and attract whatever kinds of nasties), all the residents came in to eat.

Dinner was slightly uncomfortable, although all the occupants of the shelter did their best to keep the atmosphere light. She got to know the others a little better, at least, even though they were sparse with personal information, all except Joel, who – in a somewhat forced manner – reminisced about antics he'd pulled in cop school, although after a while, it became clear that he was telling other people's stories second-hand, and pretending they'd happened to him. Even then, she, like the others, humoured him. He clearly needed to put himself at ease.

With dinner done, Chelsea was shown her 'bedroom' by Renee. It was an empty classroom where a few chairs were tied together and blankets served both as their intended purpose, and as a mattress to lie on.

Thinking about Tilly and wishing she was here with her, she fell asleep.


	3. Day 2 - The Real World

**DAY 2**

 **The Real World**

Daylight was shining through the cracks in the blinds when Chelsea awoke, after a surprisingly refreshing sleep, despite her body aching in several places from the uncomfortable accomodations. She was tempted to just lie there a bit, lazing for a while, but then she figured, these people would be counting on her to do something useful today, and she would not make a good impression by just wasting time in 'bed'. After all, can High School's destiny really depend on such a lazy girl?

No, it couldn't. So she swung her legs out her chair-bed, kicked off her old pyjama bottoms with the little rockets on them, and hoisted herself into her track trousers. She'd heard of people taping magazines around their legs and arms to act as a sort of protection, but if she was going out there today, she wanted avoidance to be her best and only protection. She was going out to scavenge, not to take on the legions of Hell with nothing but a damn screwdriver.

The first sight when she stepped into the hallway was the stewardess, or flight attendant, whatever, sitting on the same bench she'd sat on the day before. Chelsea wondered if she'd slept.

"Hey there," she asked carefully, kneeling beside her. "Feeling better?"

Her shoulders hitched, but that was all the response that came.

Chelsea gently laid her hand on the girl's knee. "Look… I don't know why you're like this, but we're still alive, right? And as long as we are, there's a reason to keep goin', yeah?"

The girl just looked at her lap.

"If you want to speak, I'm here for you, alright?"

No response. Chelsea hoped she'd come out of it soon, because she really was dead weight at the moment, much as she hated thinking of anyone as such. Maybe Renee would have more luck, maybe not. At any rate, people were waiting for her downstairs, probably, to start the day. Some might be looking forward to having new supplies come in, others might be apprehensive or even terrified, but this had to be done. Stagnation meant decline. She'd seen the state of the pantry, and it wasn't exactly glorious. A few tins of beef and beans, and not much else. Water would be a pressing need as well. Drinking out of the toilet would only sustain them for as long as the cisterns were full, because with the world probably falling apart, the water supply wouldn't be operational for very long anymore. Which made her feel somewhat guilty about the shower she'd taken the day before, until she realized that as long as the pumps and the pipes still worked, the amount of water that could be used was virtually unlimited. If the water supply fell away, however, they'd be up shit creek. It might be a good idea to start stockpiling tap water.

Electricity would be another problem, she realized as she went downstairs. There was no way the electricity grid would be operational for long. The school had a generator, Davis had told her that during dinner, but generators needed diesel fuel. So they'd have to bring that back as well. Yes, they could _technically_ live without electricity, but not only would that make already difficult living conditions unbearable, it would also make all kinds of work very slow, or even impossible. They would need electricity, no doubt about it.

So many things they'd need. One problem at a time though, and which problem to tackle or prepare for first would be decided by what they found in downtown Splendid. They, because she wasn't going alone, that much was certain. Anita had made it very clear that her work was pretty much pointless without proper building materials, and Joel patrolling the perimeter, well… did that serve an actual purpose apart from giving him something to do? She didn't think so. Might as well take those two along. Renee might be useful too, if they needed a medic, but she'd promised Anita, and again, the primary means of defence would be avoidance. Risking life and limb against whatever was out there was absolutely _not_ part of the plan.

"Sit down," Davis said as he rolled his chair under the table. The others were there too, and Renee immediately asked, "And? Is our silent sheltermate feeling any better?"

"I uh, don't know," Chelsea said back. "She's still not talkin'. I'm goin' to keep tryin', maybe I'll get through to 'er."

Renee smiled. "Please do, I'm going to do the same, maybe if we keep it up, she might snap out of it at one point. She's eating though, I left some food next to her last night and there was an empty plate this morning, so unless someone's secretly stealing food from catatonic people, she probably got something inside her."

"Sleep well?" Joel asked, helping himself to some of the salty crackers on the table.

"Better than I thought," she replied. "A bit nervous 'bout today, though."

"I'll bet," he chuckled. "I'd be nervous too, in your place. If I had to – "

"Wait, wait," she stopped him. "What d'you mean, 'in my place'? You think I'm goin' out there alone?"

He stopped moving, his buttered knife hovering over the cracker he was holding. "Uh. Well… I um… I don't think I'm supposed to…"

No way. No god damn way anyone was weaselling out of it. "I need some backup if I'm goin' out there, marra. You think I'm riskin' my life out there alone, you're barmy."

His hand remained where it was, suspended over the cracker. "I… uh, well… someone has to patrol the perimeter."

"Listen 'ere mate. You're a bloody copper. Take responsibility, yeah? If anyone should be ready to stick their neck out, it's you."

The refectory had fallen completely silent.

"Someone… someone has to be here in case anything – "

She'd have to be diplomatic about this, if she said what she really thought, the guy would never agree to come along, and even if he did, he'd be absolutely unhelpful. Even less than she feared he would be in normal circumstances. Taking a breath, she explained, back in her most neutral English, "Look, Joel. I know the thought of going out there is daunting, and it's tempting to just stay inside and wait, but if we do that, we'll die for sure, either from starvation or dehydration or simply because these fuckin' creatures find their way here and we're unprepared. We need to go out there, find supplies, resources. Maybe even people."

"You think I don't know that?" he said, his voice wobbling. "But we all agreed you were going to take care of that. Earn your keep. We've all got jobs. Except you."

"Yes, Joel," she said, feeling her patience strain at the seams. "But without anyone to watch my back, I won't come back at all, an' then you're even worse off. Yes, we'll have to leave the perimeter unpatrolled", not that she thought that was such a danger, but she had to placate him as much as possible, "but we need to explore and strengthen our position now. Before food runs out. Before water runs out. Before we lose electricity. Because if we get off our arses then, it'll be too late."

"She's right, Joel," Davis simply said.

"I know, Davis, but…" he whined. "I just… I'm scared somethin' 'll happen when we're away, y'know?"

That wasn't what he was afraid of at all, and Chelsea knew that enabling his denial would not serve anyone, especially in the long run. And there would be a long run, she was determined there would be. "Joel. I'm scared too. My belly hurts, my throat's dry and my head aches at the thought of going out there, not knowin' what we'll see. And believe me, it's _so_ tempting to just stay here with everyone and not worry about the outside, but if we do, we're dooming ourselves. Leavin' the shelter will be terrifying, but we need to do this, and I can't do it alone. I need you, Joel."

He sat there for a while, his hand now slowly moving, buttering the cracker. The only sound was the wind outside, rustling in the leaves as the morning air began to warm up, and the buzzing of the fluorescent lights above them.

"M… maybe if Sheriff Reinhardt or Vic were here, but…"

"They aren't," Chelsea said. "But when they come back, we should make sure we're still here, and that we've taken care of ourselves."

"Come on, Joel," Anita said curtly. "There's three of us who can go out here now. If we don't take the risk now, we'll never take it at all. Put your big boy pants on and stop making up excuses. We're doing this, and you better make sure you step up."

"Wait a minute," Renee immediately protested, as Chelsea had expected. "Mom, no! No! We talked about this! I don't want you putting yourself in danger."

Chelsea had a reply ready, but she swallowed it and let Anita answer, and she said the exact same thing Chelsea thought. "Renee. If you don't have a problem with Joel or Chelsea going out there, you shouldn't have a problem with me going along. I'm not off the hook because I'm your mom. Their lives are worth as much as mine."

Renee's lower lip wobbled. "Yes, I… I know… but…"

"Besides," Anita said with loud confidence, "It's not like we'll get killed out there. We're badasses, right?"

Chelsea wasn't so sure about that, especially certain people among them, but she still agreed, "Right. We're going out, staying safe, taking what we can, and coming back. No confrontations, no daredevil shite."

Renee knew she had nothing to say in return, nothing that would change anyone's mind, so with her eyes tearing up, she merely said, "I can't stop you. But mom… please be careful out there. I don't want to lose you too."

Anita put a powerful hand on Renee's shoulder. "I'll be back. I promise. The moment it gets hairy, we're high-tailing it out of there."

Chelsea thought Joel would certainly agree with that statement. He still looked like he was going to try and find some kind of argument to get out from under it, but Chelsea was decided. All three were going, or no one was. So she simply said, "Joel, if it makes you feel better, you can be our lookout, yeah? You cover our butts while we search. You're a cop, you're good at observin', right?" God, she was really stretching the limits of what was credible here.

Joel was fidgeting in his chair, all the butter now on his toast but his knife still trying to spread it even more. "I… I s'pose, but…"

"Joel," Anita snapped. "You're comin', and that's that!"

For a moment, Chelsea feared the ginger scared-arse would lie down in a foetal positon and cry, but after a few moments of motionless stupor, he actually said, in a hoarse voice, "… Fine. Fine, I'll… I'll come."

When her eyes went past Davis, she saw him smile and nod approvingly. Seemed she'd made an impression, although she wasn't sure if that was such a good thing if it had entailed being a massive hypocrite.

Still, she'd persuaded the short-arse to come along. Now if he could make it back home without shitting his britches, it would be a real success.

The crackers were eaten, the cans of soda drained – ugh, so early in the morning – and the backpacks were made. Chelsea had no real gear to bring apart from the claw hammer she'd hooked into her belt, but a rundown sports bag taken from the gym would at least make it possible for her to carry some loot back. Joel had his revolver and baton, for the good it would do when wielded by him, and Anita held the baseball bat Chelsea had found for her. Chelsea had no doubt that if things went from bad to worse, this hard-ass mama bear would be the one to depend on, regardless of the uniforms some people wore.

There was no one to _really_ say goodbye to Chelsea, all she got was two handshakes and some well wishes, but Anita made up for it by getting a minute-long hug from her daughter and another minute long of pleas not to die, to be careful, and to run at the first sign of trouble. Joel, despite his rather uninspiring behaviour at breakfast, was still wished well more fondly than Chelsea had been. She could understand why – these people had known each other for so long, after all, and Chelsea was, at the moment, nothing more than some chav from the North they'd just met. They'd come to appreciate her in time, if she lived long enough, so she wasn't too bothered by the lukewarm goodbyes. She couldn't blame the people of the shelter for not wanting to invest emotionally in someone who might be dead in an hour or two.

"We good?" she asked the others.

Anita nodded, determination on her face. Joel nodded, determination nowhere to be seen.

"Stop lookin' glum, you big pansy," Chelsea said, trying to sound as upbeat as possible. "It's just a scavengin' run, yeah?"

"Yeah. Yeah, you're right."

"Course I am, ya pillock. Let's go."

They left, Anita only looking back twice, but seeing Renee standing at the gate every time. When they had left the school a few hundred metres behind them, Chelsea said, "I know this whole situation brings people even more together than usual, but you two seem to have loved each other very much already before all this?"

"Oh yeah," Anita said, smiling. "Ever since my husband died, Renee and I have been more than just mother and daughter. We've been best friends, each other's support, the most important person in each other's lives, you know, everything. Times were hard after my husband passed, and we only had each other to depend on, you know?"

Chelsea didn't, not really, but she nodded nonetheless.

"Renee was going through puberty, and she had every right to be an annoying little brat, but she didn't. Helped around the house, never complained, studied hard. You have no idea how much I've been blessed with such an amazing daughter."

"I'm happy for you," Chelsea said, meaning it. "I really am." Parental love had been more scarce in her household, but circumstances were simply too different. It's hard to show love for your child when you're too busy having power struggles with your marriage partner all day, fighting hangovers and inebriation, and wondering where the other was and who they were in bed with. She couldn't hate her parents, but they still had a lot to feel sorry for. Well. Maybe they had nothing left to feel at all, but Chelsea really hoped they were safe. Because after all their shite, she still loved them, and she knew they, on some level, loved her too.

"Some melancholy in your voice, or am I wrong?" Anita asked.

Might as well not close herself off emotionally, these people were her new life now. "Yeah, a bit. My home life wasn't… well, it was a bit more difficult."

"Yeah. Yeah I suppose it was."

Oh yeah. She'd heard that one way too often too. People automatically assumed she was from a broken home because of how she looked. Even people who should know better. People who were 'lower-class' like her. But that was the strangeness of being lower-class, she supposed. People noticed it in others, but never in themselves. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Judging from the guilty face that immediately replaced the woman's usual gentle expression, the message had already come across. "Oh no, I didn't mean… well…"

"Sure you did," Chelsea said, smiling to show no harm had been done. "Salright. I know I look the part an' all."

"Well," she said sheepishly. "You kinda do."

"I'll 'ave you know though, a lot of my mates actually had parents who loved each other very much. S'pose mine did too, beneath all the fightin' an' the drinkin' an' bein' radgie at each other all the fuckin' time." She realized what she was saying, and admitted, "I know, I'm just confirmin' the stereotype."

"Sorry to hear it, though," she said. "Wish I'd made the completely wrong assumption."

"All good."

"You've been quiet, Joel," Anita shifted the conversation topic. They were walking down what was probably the access road to Splendid High School, a broad street lined with trees. It was summer holiday now, so the road was mostly empty. If the excrement had hit the ventilation device during school days, this road would probably have been packed with vehicles, abandoned, piled up, or just coasted off the road. Chelsea still had no precise idea what had happened, so all she could go on were similar situations in films, but she guessed the images those films provided – like the massed abandoned vehicles – would be present elsewhere in the area.

"Yeah," the deputy said quietly. "Just… y'know. Thinkin'.

Thinking about how scared he was, probably. "How far is it to downtown Splendid?" Chelsea asked, more to get his mind off things than anything else.

"Not that far, really. It's down there, just down the hill."

She saw it too, a few buildings, hardly more than a dozen. She thought it was just a few houses, and that the actual town was still a ways off, but… clearly not. "Wait. _Tha'_ is downtown Splendid?"

Anita chuckled. "Ain't much, I know. But there's a small grocery store. Should have some food, if it hasn't been ransacked already."

"In a way," Chelsea said, "I'm half hoping it is."

"Wh… what? Why would you… what are you…?" Joel breathed. Not surprising he didn't understand.

"I know what you mean, hun," Anita said. "Still, hope there's some food left, even if there've been a few visits already."

"Shit," Joel cursed. "What a fucked up thing to say."

She hoped it was just nerves impairing his judgment, but her hopes weren't high.

They were getting close now, and the banter had stopped, replaced by silent tension. As they came within ten metres of the first buildings, Anita quietly said, "You good with takin' the lead on this, Chel? I'm more comfortable not bein' in charge, if that's alright with you." Before Chelsea could answer, Anita hastily added, "It's alright if I call you Chel, right?"

What an odd thing to ask at such a time. "Uh, sure, y'alright. An' um… sure, yeah, I'll take point. Not used to it, but hey, first time for everything, right?" No matter what, she'd do a better job than fuckin' Joel. She looked back at him and saw him looking around, gnawing at his lower lip. He looked pale as a sheet, even more so than his normal nightwalker complexion. Christ, what a poor choice of profession this man had made.

"Alright," she said. "I think it's best we approach in cover. If there's anyone or anything still movin', they'll probably be on the street. I'd call it 'main street', but… it's more like 'only street', and that sounds so pathetic." Her attempt at humour went unnoticed, probably due to its terribleness. "Let's carefully take a peek between those two buildings. An' try to keep the noise down."

She slowly approached, creeping towards a small space formed between two structures. From there, they could stick their heads 'round the corners and take a look without exposing themselves overmuch. Time crept as slowly as they did, and Chelsea's stomach was a hard, painful ball, but there was no way she was backing down from this. Because there was no way she'd ever earn her place if she didn't do her part. Sadly, her part was also the most dangerous one, but then, complaining about it wouldn't help.

Her throat was a dry ring and she felt like she needed to go to the bathroom. Fuck, this was tense. It was the not knowing, most of all. Not knowing what they'd face, what would happen, how dangerous it would all be.

They reached the passage between the buildings without incident, and once safely tucked between the walls, in the company of a smelly dumpster and a few garbage bags, they took a moment to unwind. "Anyone else feel like they wanna be sick?"

"Uh huh."

"I thought it was just me."

After a moment of silence, Joel said, "Chelsea. You need to check. Stick your head out between the walls so we know if there's anything there."

Christ, this ginger plodder kept getting braver by the second. "Alright, sure. In the meantime, why don't you 'ave a deek at this dumpster an' see if it's got anythin' worthwhile."

The exasperation visible on his face, he bumbled, "Wh… I'm not… I'm not going to – "

"Keep your voice down," Anita hissed. "And she's right, look in the dumpster, might be stuff in there."

"I hardly think it's appropriate for – "

"Sod appropriate," Chelsea bit at him. "It's a safe job, yeah? What you wanted, yeah?"

He stopped protesting and set his hands against the lid of the rusted blue container, his face crumpled with disdain.

Chelsea let him be and closed her eyes, taking a short breath. For the same price, when she stuck her head out, it would be ripped off in a single second, reducing her to a limp sack of meat with blood pumping from the stump of her neck, her only purpose in this adventure to serve as a warning for the others. She felt Anita's hand on her shoulder and it steadied her somewhat. Right, time to take a look at what served for main street in this little shithole.

Slowly, dreading the potential loss of her head, she peeked out. No head-ripping was forthcoming, but the sight that greeted her when she looked into the town was anything but encouraging. Standing in the hot pre-midday sun were four people… or at least things that had been people once. They just stood there, hunched or swaying from side to side, their clothes bloody and torn. One stood with its back to the window of the small grocery store. Another one, in a frayed suit, stood next to a broken-down SUV. There was a female cyclist in the middle of the street, looking quite dead as well despite her bright fluorescent green and yellow spandex clothes, and the last former-person was dressed in overalls and was still, somehow, gripping his torque wrench. Chelsea had no idea if they were hostile, infectious, or whatever. She leaned back in and said to Anita, "There's four of them… whatever they are. Are they… aggressive? Contagious? What?"

"Not sure," Anita whispered back. "From what Davis heard on the radio, they seem to transmit the infection through bites. Once you get it, you have a few days and then… well."

"Right."

"They also attack on sight, but they can't see or hear very well. Don't ask me what 'not very well' entails exactly."

"So if we're quiet, and avoid line-of-sight, we should be fine, right?"

Anita chuckled. "Avoid line-of-sight. Yeah."

"Sorry, too many video games."

"You're right, though. What I'd especially like to do is get inside that store. There must still be food in there, canned preferably."

They both jumped as the dumpster lid closed, quietly enough, but still louder than they'd hoped.

"Shit, Joel," Anita hissed.

"Sorry." He had a few things in his hands, at least. "Found a few objects which might be useful though. Some old CDs, don't know what's on them?" He held them out towards Chelsea, who took them.

"Uh, Joel. Pretty sure we won't need a CD-ROM with Windows Millennium. That was the most shite version too." She looked at the others. "Oh fuck me, Legend of Zelda on CD-i. Put that right back in the garbage. And throw that EA FIFA game in there too, bah." The two last ones were interesting though, potentially. They were music CD's, one with contemporary EDM and one with eighties classics. "We're keepin' those. Some music'll help lighten the mood." She stuck the two CD's in her sports bag.

Joel also had a slightly bent tyre iron (would make for a nice weapon in a pinch) and an old rucksack with a hole in the side. A few stitches and it'd be good enough to use. "Nice work, Joel," she said, because she knew he was expecting her to. "Now, back to the task at hand. I think if we sneak 'round the back, there might be another entrance and we won't have to risk gettin' tha'… whatever it is all radgie."

"Let's do it," Anita said. "We came here to find things, not to run back at the first sign of trouble."

"Mm."

Slowly, they left their safe place, tiptoeing across the slowly heating asphalt. The bicycle lady stirred once, letting out a short, startled "Grah!" and moving her head in the general direction of the three scavengers, but apart from that, not a single body stirred. It was now that Chelsea noticed the dead people – the ones truly and finally dead, lying here and there on the streets. The teenager closest to them lay on his belly, one of his legs torn or chewed off at the knee. A long trail of dried blood streaked behind him like the tail of a comet. The boy had bled out trying to get to safety. She felt a mixture of regret and disgust at the corpse.

A woman sat slumped against the side wall of the grocery store, and her body was even more worrying: there was a hole dead centre in the cotton surgical mask she'd been wearing, and dried and browned brain matter against the wall behind her. Chelsea had hoped for other survivors, but not this kind.

"Whoever did this, they're gone," Joel whispered. "Blood's definitely more than two days old."

"Joel Oswalt, Ace Detective," Anita whispered back, the derision only slightly audible in her voice.

More like Joke Oswalt, Ace Defective, Chelsea thought, before realizing she'd unconsciously copied that internal quip from somewhere.

Even the former man at the grocery store window didn't spot them as they crept to the side of the building, and they reached the brick wall safely, sneaking around the back. The back door was broken open, but no creepy ex-people were present. It was doubtful that any looters were still inside, but Chelsea did take out the claw hammer, hefting it in her hand, to be sure.

Carefully, she stepped inside, finding the place empty. "Well," she said quietly. "It's not entirely empty, there's still some leftovers." Anita came in next, and Joel followed, whispering, "Wonder if they have any hot sauce. Sure could go for some hot sauce on those damn beans."

"Right," Anita said. "We grab what we can carry. Food's top priority."

Quietly, they searched the place. Chelsea found very little – most of the things had already been looted apart from mouldy potatoes and open bottles with sour milk, but she did manage to pull out two packets of nuts from a dark corner of one of the cupboards. That was pretty great, nuts were extremely high in nutritional value.

"Mayonnaise," Anita said quietly when Chelsea felt a weight slide into her bag. "Not great but it's something."

"No hot sauce," Joel said, "But there was a small packet of coffee still lying around. Instant junk, but better than nothing."

"Absolutely."

The rest of the haul wasn't noteworthy. A few small packets of salt, a half-empty bottle of ketchup, and a jar of tomato sauce (sadly for Joel not of the hot variety). There were also a few cream-filled snack cakes, horrible nutritional value but they filled the belly. Disappointed, Chelsea still tried to keep spirits up. "Wasn't much, but we've got more than what we came with, right?"

"S'pose," Anita said, leaning on one of the counters and looking out at the back of the motionless man outside the window.

"Hey might be one more thing?" Joel suggested.

"Mm?"

"We oughta check the crapper. Might be some toilet paper left. Cause, you know, people always think about stockpilin' food and that, but not enough people realize, well, we're gonna have to take a lotta shits, better stock up on toilet paper. Right?"

He had a point, badly as it was being made. Bog rolls would be useful, because Chelsea didn't intend to wipe her pooper with newspaper or leaves. "Good thinkin'," she said. "Let's check it out."

"Don't worry," Joel said. "I got this."

His bravery seemed to increase the safer the situation was. Shocker.

He reached for the door and pulled it open.

The next moment, there was a scream, which turned into two screams as a figure with a red hooded windbreaker and blue jeans lunged forward, one of her arms coming down, metal flashing in her hand.

The screwdriver buried itself in Joel's shoulder and the weight of the girl came down on him, sending them both to the ground. Before either Chelsea or Anita could react, the girl leapt up and bolted towards the exit while Joel lay there whimpering and holding his injured shoulder. Chelsea was too late to grab her, but Anita, standing behind her, simply let her weight fall forward, grabbing the woman and sending them both crashing across the counter. She brought her fist up and unceremoniously socked it right into the smaller woman's medical face mask.

The girl in the red windbreaker instantly went limp across the counter.

"Nice punch," Chelsea said, while Joel got to his feet, swaying as he held his shoulder.

"She stabbed me. God damn psycho stabbed me."

Chelsea saw Anita looking past her, through the store window, her eyes panicked. Looking back herself, she realized why.

There was no one at the window anymore.

"We've got to get out of here," Anita breathed, hauling the half-conscious young woman up by the collar of her jacket and dragging her outside. Chelsea and Joel followed, but when they came out of the store, the man at the window was already shuffling towards them, groaning and gurgling, his hands hooked into claws and held out at them.

"Go," Joel said, whipping out his baton. "Go, I'll deal with this one."

Chelsea was too panicked to be properly surprised, but she did get her hammer ready and stood beside him. "We're all comin' back home. I don't know what these fuckers can do, but we knew we'd find out at some point."

"Splendid PD!" Joel shouted at the oncoming threat. "… Okay, that didn't work."

The dead man lurched towards them and let his clawed hands whip through the air. Joel side-stepped the attack and let his baton connect with the side of his attacker's head, knocking him off balance before Chelsea's hammer came down on its shoulder. She felt the soggy meat tear off the body's bones.

The infected kept coming, however, lunging at Joel and pulling him to the ground, but before it could bring the remains of its teeth down on his throat, Chelsea let her hammer impact the back of the attacker's head, crushing the base of the skull and sending its cerebellum exploding through the air in putrid grey clots.

"Y'alright?" She held out her hand and helped Joel up. The deputy was too shaken to realize he had brains on his shirt.

"Guys! A little help!"

Chelsea whipped her head around and saw the bicycle lady, the suit man, and the overalls person lurch towards Anita, from the other side of the store. The girl in the red windbreaker and the white face mask had been thrown hastily to the ground, and was trying to pick herself up but being too dizzy to succeed.

"Shit," Joel hissed, taking out his pistol. Two deafening cracks sounded, and the suit man's head spat out skull bits and brain matter twice, the body collapsing where it stood. Anita swung her bat at the bicycle lady, but in her panic, the swing went wild. She did manage to catch the cyclist on the backswing, striking her in the side of the ribcage below the arm. Even though Chelsea clearly heard rotten ribs break, the cyclist was unfazed by the blow, her fingernails clawing the air right before Anita's face. Another shot rang out, deafening Chelsea's right ear entirely, and the overalls man crashed to his knees and fell over. Chelsea closed in on the bicycle woman, but Anita's bat already came down in a furious vertical downward swing, cracking the cyclist's helm in two, as well as the skull beneath it. The sheer force of the blow made it look like the fluorescent woman was driven into the ground like a fence post, but Chelsea saw that her knees had simply snapped from the downward force. The next moment, the cyclist fell over and was still, her brains dark brown in colour as they splatted onto the pavement of the small store parking lot.

"What about this one?" Joel asked, his gun aimed at the red-jacket girl, who had managed to stand. "She tried to kill me. An officer of the law. What the fuck kind of manners are those? Huh?"

"Please," the girl pleaded, holding out her hands in front of her. "We can't stay here."

" _We_ can't," Anita said. "But you can. Why should we let you live?"

"I… I thought you were looters or worse. They… they killed Freya, I… I thought if I hid…" Then her eyes fixed on the bleeding deputy. "Wait. Joel? _Joel Oswalt_? What the fuck?'

Joel's eyes went to Anita, to Chelsea, and back again.

"It _is_ you! The rent-a-cop from Splendid High! I'm Cindy! Cindy Bransen!" She pulled down the mask to show her face, her skin the coffee-and-creamy colour of mixed race.

"Oh shit," Anita exclaimed. "We can't stay here! They're comin'. We gotta go!"

"D'you know this bird, Joel? Can she be trusted?"

"I… I don't know," he stammered, his gun still aimed at her. "I kinda remember her from Splendid High, but all I know is, she was always a god damn troublemaker."

"Guys! We have to _go_!" Anita snarled. Chelsea risked a quick look to see what was going on, and then she saw it, at least twenty shuffling bodies coming towards them from the far side of main street.

"Shit," she hissed. "Give me one good damn reason why we shouldn't shoot you in the leg an' leave you for those things to cover our escape," she shouted at the woman.

Tearful panic broke out on the girl's face. "No! No, please! Please don't! I just… I just wanted to stay alive! I thought you were the looters, coming back to kill me too, and take my stuff!" Her face, wet with tears, lit up. "My stuff!" she said hastily. "That's it! I'll share my stuff! Freya and me, we got a lot of food out of the store before the looters came!"

"Risk it?" Joel asked, his eyes darting between Chelsea and the girl apparently called Cindy.

"Whatever you do, decide _fucking now_!" Anita shouted, holding her baseball bat in both hands, as if that would be any help against twenty of the things. They were only twenty metres away.

This girl could be a liar, a traitor, an opportunist, anything, but the fact that she was apparently a local and 'only' a troublemaker, and that her story of her friend being killed checked out – who else had the dead woman against the wall been – made Chelsea's hasty decision err in her favour. Perhaps she'd doomed them all by trusting someone who might lead her fellow looters to their shelter, but leaving someone to die was not, despite her earlier threats, ever an option.

"You're comin' with us, yeh gobshite. Come on, Anita, we're goin'!"

"You sure about this?" Joel asked, his voice nervous. "She might be – "

"No, I'm not sure, but we're not leavin' her here to get eaten. Come on. Anita, let's go!"

"Thought you'd never fuckin' ask." Anita lowered her baseball bat and began running, and the others followed suit, sprinting away from the shuffling group of whatever-the-fuck-they-were. Chelsea didn't know where they were running to, but she instinctively followed red-jacket girl, who said, "Over here, wooded area, we'll lose them there!"

Chelsea noticed Joel still had his revolver out as he ran. He really didn't trust the girl. Which was understandable, but running with a drawn revolver didn't seem very prudent to her.

After a few minutes of running, the girl slowed to a brisk walk. "Right… should be safe here," she panted. They'd reached a small stretch of trees and undergrowth, the shamblers not following.

Anita stopped running, doubled over, her hands on her knees. "I'm too old for this shit."

"Alright," Joel snapped. "Spit it out. What were you doing in there, and why did you attack me." His revolver was back up, aimed at her forehead. "Come on. Talk."

Chelsea gently placed her hand on it and pushed it down. "Salright, Joel. She's unarmed, and there's three of us. I think not 'avin' a gun pointed at 'er gob will lead to a more enlightenin' conversation, d'you know wha' I mean like?"

His face betrayed that he most certainly didn't know what she meant, but he didn't push it.

"Alright, so. Let's have it then."

She sat down on a tree stump and grinned, her previous terror seemingly overcome. "So you actually became a Sheriff's deputy, huh, Joel? How'd that happen? Accidentally shot all the other candidates at the range?"

He pumped a fist at her. "Girl! I've got half a mind to – "

"You've got half a mind, period," she retorted, her grin widening.

"Alright, as rivetin' as this whole exchange is, you two wanna stop bein' twelve? Lass, I 'aven't got any idea who you are, so why don't you start with tha', yeah?"

She became serious again. "Right, sorry. I'm Cindy Bransen. Like I said, went to Splendid High for a few years 'til I was kicked out. Bad behaviour, heh. Just teenage rebellion stuff, nothing too serious. Lighthouse there caught me smoking in the bathroom a few times. Pulled a lot of other shit too. Splendid High got fed up with me after enough shenanigans."

"Rightly so, I might add," Joel chimed in.

"Aww," she said with a feigned smile, cocking her head. "So you do remember me."

"Yeah, alright, I was thinkin' a bit more recent stuff," Chelsea changed the subject. "How'd you survive, what were you doin' in the store, why'd you attack Joel? You know. Things that are relevant in a more immediate sense, yeah?"

"Right. Well, my uh, friend Freya and I, we were holed up in a cabin at the Splendid youth campground. There's nothing there anymore, in case you were going to ask. Um, we ate all our food, so we came to the glorious cosmopolitan town of Splendid to see what we could find." She looked at her sneakers. "We found a lot, but Freya, she… well. Just after we'd stashed our first batch of loot, we came back to find more, but there were looters. They had guns. Demanded we gave them our stuff. We said we didn't have any. They didn't believe us. They shot Freya." She told it all without any emotion in her voice. "I ran and hid in the store. They'd have killed me too if the zombies hadn't driven them off. They came because of the gunshots." She looked up at Chelsea. "Like they did just now, when Joel here was dumb enough to start blastin'."

Chelsea remembered the state the female body had been in, the one that had been shot and was, presumably, Freya. "So you were in that bog for two days or more?"

She frowned. "The b… Oh, you mean, the toilet? Uh. Yeah. Yeah, I was."

"Impressive," Anita grunted. "Almost unbelievably so."

Quietly, the girl said, "You'd be surprised what a person's capable of when they're scared to death."

"Alright, look," Joel said, his voice still nervous. "We agreed to let you live if you shared your stuff with us. Let's get it over with, so we can let you go back to… whatever it is you'll do."

"How selfless of you, Joel," the mulatto girl said. Or was she blasian? Hard to tell with the hood and the hygienic mask still crumpled over her chin. "But yes, I promised, so we'll share." She sighed. "Under the leaves, over there."

"I'll check," Anita said, walking to the pile of branches and leaves that, indeed, now that Chelsea looked at it, looked very suspicious.

"You haven't booby-trapped it or anything, have you?" Joel bit at her, his hand still on the grip of his holstered revolver.

She rolled her eyes. "Christ, Joel."

Anita threw the foliage aside and pulled out a large rucksack that looked to be at least three quarters full. "It's here alright." Rummaging inside, she discovered, "Seven cans of food in all, a few packs of dry foodstuff. Menstrual pads, good idea. Soap. Ummm… let's see. Three toothbrushes. Three pairs of undies. Oh, and a tiny bottle of bourbon."

"Half's for you, fair's fair," the girl said. "But I've got a better deal to propose."

"What's tha', then?"

She spread her hands in a gesture of magnanimity. "You can have it all."

Chelsea crossed her arms. There would doubtless be some kind of favour needed in return. "But…?"

The girl smiled broadly. "You take me too."

She should have expected that particular 'offer'. And to be honest with herself, she didn't think it was a bad idea per se. Yes, it was another mouth to feed, but the girl had survived that long on her own, or with her friend at least, so she must have done _something_ right. Plus, she seemed to know a fair bit about the things roaming these streets. The question was, of course, could she be trusted.

Joel, naturally, had an opinion of his own regarding that particular issue. "You ain't seriously considerin' this, are you? This chick tried to _kill_ me. She stabbed me with a screwdriver, in case you've already forgotten!"

"I am seriously considerin' it, as it happens, Joel."

"She's no good, I'm tellin' you."

Anita offered her opinion. "All we've seen from her is a panic reaction. She held up her end of the deal." She sighed. "I don't know. On the one hand, we can use more people, on the other hand, it ain't certain she's on the up-and-up. I don't know. You decide, Chel."

"No," Joel protested. "You don't decide. You don't get to make that call on your own. I am against this, one hundred percent."

The girl looked up at Joel, and when she spoke, she looked and sounded sincere. "Look, Joel, I know I've been a little shit in the past, and even now, but I swear to God, I'm not bullshittin' you here. I just don't want to be alone anymore. I'll work to earn my keep, don't worry."

"Oh yeah?" he asked, Chelsea wondering if he himself realized that his tone was softening. "What skills can you offer, bein' a high school dropout?"

"She survived until now," Anita pointed out. "And she didn't have a shelter, or a group, or anything else. I'm thinkin' she'll make a good addition to the scavengin' team." But then she deferred, "If you think it's a good idea, Chel."

Chelsea wondered who had suddenly made her the leader, but she figured she might as well cut the knot if people weren't able to decide, or were so bad at it. "I'm thinkin' we can use some more people. An' I'm thinkin' if she wanted to fuck us over, she simply wouldn't have said ought and just followed us back to our shelter."

"Yeah," Joel scoffed. "Unless she knew you'd reason that way and she's just tryin' to gain our trust so she doesn't have to follow us back to the sch – " His face froze. "To… to the shelter."

There was silence, apart from the sound of the girl holding her hand over her face and snickering.

"Well," Anita finally sighed. "Looks like you just decided for us, huh Joel?"

"Well… I didn't… There wasn't… it's not…"

"Don't worry, Joel," the girl said in a mock soothing tone. "It's alright. It's not like I hadn't figured it out for myself yet. Splendid High is a pretty sensible choice for a shelter. I'd have headed there myself if I hadn't met you guys, probably. Also," she nudged her chin at Chelsea. "You seem like a really clever and cool chick, but you might want to not go out with a sports bag that says 'Splendid High' on it in cow-sized letters."

Chelse felt heat rising up to her face. "… Oh."

"So yeah," she smirked, "I knew from the start. And still I politely asked to join. So if that don't convince you, then I got no idea what will."

Anita scratched her chin. "She makes sense."

"She does," Chelsea agreed.

Joel stuck to a suspicious "I still don't trust her," but it was clear he was only saying it because he didn't want to admit her argument was sound. "And don't Davis and Renee get a say?"

"They'd agree with us," Anita said flatly. "They'd also agree that we shouldn't turn someone out to die alone out there."

Chelsea added, " _And_ they'd also agree tha' no matter wha', it's safer to keep 'er 'ere with us than to send 'er away when she knows where we're shacked up, yeah?"

"Look," the girl said, pulling her hood back. "Even if you send me away, I won't sell you out or come and steal from you. I promise. I just want to be part of a group, to stand a chance to survive, and to help out. That's the honest truth. If I stay on my own, I'll die out here."

Even though she saw no reason to say no, Chelsea did take a few moments to think things over and decide. They were relatively safe here, and the only sound now was the gentle rustling of the leaves in the lazy noontime breeze.

"Alright. Welcome aboard, I guess?"

The girl bounced up from the tree stump and threw her arms around Chelsea. "Thanks so much. I thought… I'd kinda given up hope to see another living soul."

Chelsea had to laugh at the girl's uninhibited relief. "It's alright, we'll be happy to have you if you pull your weight."

She heard Joel's voice mutter, "Only been here a day and already decidin' things in our name."

Anita's voice came right after, "Stow it, Joel. We're in this together. And we won't survive either if it's just the five of us."

The blasian (because that's what she was) girl let go of Chelsea and slung the backpack over her shoulder. "I'll carry this, don't worry." Chelsea could swear she tried to hide a few tears of relief.

"I'm still against the idea."

Chelsea now realized Joel had somewhat earned the right to be cranky. And he deserved to be told. "I understand, Joel," she said gently. "But I have a good feelin' about this, an' I'm pretty good at readin' people. I think."

"Mm".

"Also," she continued. "I hadn't expected it, but you really stepped up back there. Probably saved our arses. Thank you." She meant it, even though she felt a little guilty about judging him so harshly earlier. She still doubted if he could keep it together in real crisis situations, but he'd certainly given them a pleasant surprise.

"Yeah… yeah," he grunted. "Well. Just doin' my job, I guess."

"Let's head back, give Renee the chance to take a look at that shoulder." The injury didn't seem serious, it had already stopped bleeding, but still infection was a real threat, no matter the gravity of the injury. Regular infection, at least. Thankfully, it had been a screwdriver and not the teeth of one of those shamblers.

"Ain't too bad," Joel tried to act tough. "Hope you're better with a screwdriver now you're on our side."

"What I'm especially good at," she said as they began the walk back to Splendid High, "is finding stuff and getting around without being seen."

Anita chuckled. "In _that_ jacket?"

She shrugged. "Zombies can't see worth shit anyway. They see movement, but not colours or anything. And this was all I had to keep me warm during the recent nights, I'd feel bad throwing it away."

"We should be back late afternoon, yeah?" Chelsea asked.

"M-hm."

"Right. Let's use this time to introduce you, get you settled in. Joel can get his shoulder looked at in the meantime."

"Yeah uh," Cindy said again, "Sorry again "bout that, Joel. I mean it."

"Hmph."

They walked back, with Cindy sharing her knowledge with the others. Seemed the infected were most definitely zombies, or at least zombie-like things – people who'd died of the plague or of a bite from another infected individual and who rose again to… bite as many people as they could, Cindy assumed with a shrug. She said the infection had turned people everywhere she'd been, and that the radio had said the epidemic wasn't local or even national, but global. Chelsea's heart sank at the thought of her parents, but she had to keep believing.

The sun was up in full force now, and they found themselves walking on the side of the road to have at least a bit of shade every now and then. Cindy's windbreaker had been folded and tied around her waist, and Joel's uniform had armpit ponds worthy of awe. Chelsea, too, was sweating like a horse. Shit, she hoped all afternoons in Texas weren't like this.

They made it to the school without incident, and as they stood by the school gate, Cindy said wistfully. "Splendid High. This brings back memories." She sighed. "So many things I'd do differently…"

When they entered the school grounds, Renee already came running out. "Joel, you're hurt!"

"Yeah um," Chelsea said, "Just a little accident, tha's all."

"Just a minor stab wound," he said as Renee took him by the arm.

The girl's eyes flashed at her mother. "I thought you were going to avoid danger?"

"We did," Anita explained. "This was just… a, um, tiny mishap."

"Hi, I'm Cindy," the new group member tried to say, but Renee didn't hear her, focused on getting Joel to the makeshift infirmary in the basement. "Hm, I s'pose I'll introduce myself again later."

"Yeah, my daughter's very focused on carin'," Anita said. "She'll make the time for introductions later."

"Alright, so what can I do to help in the meantime?" Her eyes went straight to Chelsea.

"Uh… I'm not sure, I'm not the boss 'round 'ere."

"Pft," she blew. "It's clear that people around here want to be in charge even less than you do. And 'fore you ask," she added with a wide grin, "I'm also one of those people."

"Figured. Um, I s'pose you could take a walk 'round? Get your bearings, get to meet the other people? Well, there's just Davis and Renee, when she's done with Joel, but still."

"Sure. By the way, where's your pantry? Need to get this stuff off my back."

"We'll go together, I'll show you."

She led the chipper thing to the equipment storage room, giving her a very short tour of the shelter and mentioning Elaine, the mute flight attendant ("Oh. No, no, no, I'm not even gonna try talkin' to her until she feels better, I'd say all sorts of stupid shit") and the mystery passenger still in a coma in the basement. Chelsea hoped the man would be physically alright after his coma, and maybe even pleasant to boot. They went to stock their small amount of loot, crossing Davis as he wheeled two cans of corned beef and two cans of beans in tomato sauce to the kitchen.

"Oh hey there. This is our new arrival? Anita mentioned you." He stuck out his hand. "It's a huge pleasure to meet you, you have no idea how relieved we are that there's still living people out there." Cindy shook it with a smile and he went on, "Let's hope they're all as friendly as you are. Last thing we need is a world full of Mad Max-antics."

"… Yeah," Cindy said carefully. "Fraid that ain't the case. There's definitely folks out there thinkin' the collapse of society was a great opportunity to take whatever they want at gunpoint. They… shot my friend."

"Oh," The disappointment on Davis' face briefly made him look ten years older. "I'm sorry to hear that. And I guess we should've expected nothing else." He made a visible effort to bring his usual energetic look back to his face and said, "But you're here, and that's great news. I hope you'll find the shelter to your liking, and that you'll do what it takes to make sure it likes you back." That was a gentle way of saying she shouldn't expect a free ride. Chelsea didn't peg her for a freeloader, but it couldn't hurt to pass the message along.

She bounced. "Well, I'm pretty likeable as is, and I'll be happy to do my part, I ain't just here to mooch off you guys. Fact, I didn't come empty-handed." She pointed at the bags on her back and in Chelsea's hand and clicked her tongue. "I'm thinkin' you won't mind changin' up the beans and canned meat menu for a few days."

"Chelsea," Davis said in an ice cold, commandeering tone, his eyes hard.

"Uh… yeah?"

He took the cans out of his lap and dramatically thrust them at Chelsea. "Take this miserable excuse for food back to the pantry this instant."

She took the cans and laughed. "Whey aye."

"Miss Cindy… show me everything."

Davis took his time to rummage through the bag in his lap, finally selecting a can of salmon fillet, a glass jar of string beans, and a can of baby potatoes. "I'm no wizard in the kitchen, but I'm pretty sure I can turn this into something very edible. Better than beans and beef, that's for sure." He wheeled off, calling out, "Expect mouth-watering smells coming from the kitchen soon!"

They watched him go, making a beeline for the kitchen. "Let's leave 'im to 'is cookin'," Chelsea said. "Come on."

She showed their new arrival around the base, giving as much a tour as she could in the brief time they had before Davis got dinner ready. They ignored Elaine for now, apart from a brief one-sided introduction – there was little point in trying to reach her when dinner could be ready at any moment anyway. There were enough classrooms for everyone to have their own rooms – for now – so she just told Cindy to pick any classroom she liked. She was clever enough to pick one that had its windows on the North side. Chelsea wished she'd thought of that, but then again, she hadn't really picked her room either. Ah well.

Just when Cindy was done chucking her very meagre possessions into her new room, the PA system rang out, a brief _ding-dong_ tone that was usually followed by an announcement, but now, it was simply the dinner bell.

Chelsea and Cindy arrived first, but it didn't take long before the cafeteria table was completely occupied. Joel still had a frown on his face, but everyone else seemed rather chipper at seeing the unexpected change in menu. For Chelsea, the corned-beef-and-beans diet had only lasted a day, but the other residents seemed more than a bit tired of it already, so good for them.

"While we eat," Davis announced, "I'd like to talk to you about how you guys see things, you know… moving forward?"

"Sure," Anita said through a mouthful of salmon. "Anything specific?"

"Well," he said, folding his hands together, "There's a few things we need to decide on. One of them, which is probably the most important, is how we'll organize things when it comes to leadership and decision-making. Democracy is nice, but we'll need to put someone in charge when it comes to both big decisions on one hand, and day-to-day leadership on the other. I don't know if anyone – "

Cindy's hand went up, "I vote Chelsea!"

Davis let out a chuckle that was somewhere between reserved amusement and polite annoyance. "I'm sure people would need to announce their candidacy before being eligible for votes. Does anyone consider themselves potentially suited to taking up an informal mantle of leadership?"

All eyes went to Chelsea, but she harboured no illusions, these people didn't consider her the best candidate, they considered her the least worst. For that reason, she didn't raise her hand right away even though she knew what it would probably come down to in the end. She would be the least reticent so she would be elected for lack of a better candidate. And really, would she do all that badly? She wasn't bad with people – not for some Northern chavette at least – and she'd definitely make decisions with the group's best interests at heart. And if everyone else really didn't want the job, then maybe she ought to put her humility and her self-doubt aside and actually go for it. Still, she had to ask… "Davis, honestly, you seem like the best man for the job? You've been doin' fine 'til now?"

He smiled at her, looking sincere as he always did, and simply said, "I can't bear the burden of leadership, Chelsea. I've muddled through so far, but every day I've been hoping someone better would come along and relieve me of this silent agreement that I should play father figure. I can organize things for a while, but the harder decisions, they're… they're not for me. I'd let you down in a crisis, please trust me when I tell you I don't say this lightly."

The refectory was still silent. Chelsea considered the alternatives. Joel was out of the question, and he knew it too. She wouldn't even trust him to lead a Morris dancing troupe. Renee seemed bright and kind, likeable too, but too timid. Not assertive enough when it mattered. Anita would probably keep everyone in line, but leadership required more than that, it required people skills. Not just agreeableness – that wasn't a problem, it seemed – but insight in how to deal with groups, different personalities, to reconcile differences. She seemed to wear her heart on her sleeve, and while that was certainly a commendable quality, it got seriously in the way of good leadership. Cindy had only been here for an hour, so she was out by default, especially since she showed no inclination whatsoever to propose herself, and because all they'd heard about her past so far had been immature troublemakery.

No, she'd do fine. Much better than the others, for all the qualities they had.

She sighed and raised her hand.

"All in favour?" Davis asked, and all hands went up. She was officially stuck with the job. "I've got a good feeling about you," Davis said. "Had since the beginning. You'll do fine, Chelsea. Probably surprise even yourself."

"Let's hope so."

The sounds of cutlery clinking against plates resumed.

"I've taken the liberty, if you don't mind," Davis told her, "of preparing a little aid for the Shelter. To organize things, you know?"

"Oh?"

"It's up against the wall over there. Renee was sweet enough to help me put it up because, well… it was a little high up for me to reach."

A large whiteboard was screwed into the wall, about as big as an A0-page. On the left side was a column that said,

 _Chelsea Jayne_

 _Renee Cass_

 _Anita Cass_

 _Joel Oswalt_

 _Elaine ?_

 _Davis Cray_

Next Elaine's name was written ' _Unavailable_ '. Chelsea could guess why.

"It's just an easy way to divide tasks and assign jobs to people," Davis explained. "That way, people know what they need to do that day. I figured we could use the big empty space for announcements and things. It'll be especially useful once we've got more folks 'round here, otherwise it'll become hard to keep track of things."

Chelsea cleared her throat. "You uh, really are thinkin' big, aren't you?"

"Yes. I refuse to accept that we're the only ones out there, and I think being prepared for more people is the best way to keep the faith."

Made sense.

"Alright so, what? I write down people's jobs for the next day every evenin'?"

"That's the idea."

Anita chuckled. "Feels like I'm back in school." Renee agreed with a short giggle.

With an embarrassed grin, Davis admitted, "It feels a bit disciplinarian, but it'll make things easier in the long run."

"Just don't put me on latrine cleanin' duty for a while and I'm all good." Cindy said. She added, "Spent too much time in one of those recently."

"What duty _should_ we put you on then, young lady?" Joel asked. It was clear he didn't ask because he was genuinely interested.

She ignored his confrontational tone – or didn't notice it – and shrugged, saying, "I got to know the surroundins a bit. Don't mind spendin' more time outside." She pricked her fork into a stack of beans. "I've survived pretty good so far out there."

"Hidin' in the bog," Chelsea couldn't resist adding.

Cindy grinned at her. "Still counts."

"Alright so," Chelsea said, scooping up a forkful of soggy but delicious salmon, "I'm guessin' Renee needs to stay inside, take care of our comatose patient?"

"M-hm," she confirmed. "It's not a full-time job, but I can clean up a bit in between, spend some time in the library looking for books on medicine." All the eyes on her told her that wasn't exactly the most confidence-inspiring thing to say. "Just… the more you know, right?"

"Right. Davis, you're probably still going to work the radio room?"

"If that's alright with everyone, yes. Generator needs some maintenance too, for what good it'll do until it runs out of fuel."

"No objections?"

No one dared. Obviously.

"Cindy?"

"I'm goin' if you're goin'."

"Whey aye, I'm goin'." Even though she was scared shitless of the thought. "So's Joel. We need every pair of eyes and hands right now." She took care to give him a look that said she wouldn't tolerate duty-shirking. "Besides, you're the most combat-capable of us." She doubted that with vigor, but he needed the confidence boost.

He opened his mouth, closed it again, then said, resigned. "Fine. I guess I ought to go where I'm needed most."

"I'm coming back with you too," Anita posited, picking her teeth with her fingernail. "You'll need all the help you c – "

"Mom, _no_ ," Renee protested, banging her cutlery down beside her plate. "We talked about this. I don't want you going out there. Not again."

"I know, sweetheart, but I have to."

"No, you don't!" Tears began to well up in Renee's eyes. "We need you to work on the wall, remember? And, and, and, it's… I need you to stay here."

Anita sighed and gently put her hand on her daughter's. "There's nothing I can do on the wall until we get building materials. I will come back, I promise."

Renee's lip trembled and she wiped the tears from her eyes. "I just… I can't bear to lose you. Not you too."

"We need to do this, hun," Anita said. "It's the only chance we've got. We're in this together and I need to pitch in, even if it's dangerous. I'm no more valuable than anyone else."

" _Yes you are,_ " Renee lashed out. "You're my mom and I don't want you going out there!"

Chelsea cautiously tiptoed into the discussion. "Renee. I promise, we'll do everything we can to stay safe. No risks, no lookin' for trouble. First sign of anythin' dangerous, we're turnin' back."

"You say that, but look! Joel already got stabbed on the first day!"

"That was um, a misunderstandin'," Cindy said sheepishly. "Chelsea's right, you know, we won't – "

"Butt out," Renee snapped. "I don't know you."

Cindy shut up, even as Anita gently said to Renee, "Easy, hun."

"Renee," Chelsea tried again. "I know it's scary, but we'll be really careful. Besides, we've seen yer mam in action. If anyone should be scared, it's the zombies."

The girl just sat biting her lip. "I couldn't forgive myself if anything happened."

"I know it's difficult," Chelsea said, "But puttin' me in charge means I have to bear the responsibility for our mistakes, but it also means puttin' your trust in me. We need to watch each other's backs out there, and four people – "

"Fine," she suddenly bit at Chelsea, pushing her chair back from the table so hard it fell over. "Do whatever you want. Doesn't seem like my voice matters anyway. You're the leader, you're the boss, and I'm just some stupid vet. Meanwhile, I'll just be here, eating myself up with worry and trying to dribble applesauce into the slobbering mouth of Miss Useless up there."

"Renee, we all – " Chelsea began, but the girl cut her off. "No. I'm going to bed."

"Sweetheart – "

Renee held up her hands to show she didn't want to listen. "Just… I need to be alone." With that, she stomped off, out of the refectory and upstairs.

Chelsea felt miserable, but this was really for the best. More people meant less risk, it was common sense.

"Don't feel bad, hun," Anita said. "She's just worried. It's been a gruelling few days for us. While you were out, things were… very difficult. It's all a bit too much for her right now, please don't take it personally."

"I don't." She kinda did but alright. "I just hope she understands."

"She will."

Silence fell, with only Joel's awkward throat-clearing breaking it.

"So, uh…" Cindy tried after a few minutes. "… anyone want to talk about plans for tomorrow? Where we ought to go, an' stuff?"

"Sure, yeah," Chelsea said, her weariness more apparent in her voice than she liked. "Kinda depends what we need most, right?" She glanced at Davis, who probably had a better idea of the shelter's inventory than anyone.

"Mmm," he said, thinking. "Tools would be nice. If we want to keep this place running, we'll need to make repairs. I'm not horrible with mechanical stuff, but I can't do much with my bare hands. Janitor's closet only had very basic things. Not even a hammer, nothing sharp, nothing that could be dangerous. Almost makes you think like we were living in a time of people killing each other in school."

"Yeah, damn school always subcontracted all the repairs and maintenance like cheap fuckers," Joel grunted.

"Right," Cindy said, her good cheer returning, trying hard to infect the others. "I know for a fact that there's a hardware store, uh, Diamondback chain, I think, in the Llano commercial district. I passed by there with Freya, but well, we didn't need tools at that point, just basic stuff to survive." She thought for a while, flicking her tongue from side to side of her mouth. "Think there were still some other stores too. Maybe even food, 'cause we'll always need that, right?"

"Yes," Davis confirmed. "We definitely need to keep searching for food no matter what. Maybe we can try growing our own if anyone has any idea how to do that, but that'll take a long time."

"Watercress takes like, a day," Chelsea pointed out.

Davis chuckled, "Not exactly filling though."

"So?" Cindy asked. "Go there next? We can try the residential areas too, I think. What's left of 'em."

"Any objections?" Chelsea asked. There were none. She rose and uncapped the whiteboard marker next to the board. "Right, so…" She wrote:

 _Chelsea Jayne - Scav_

 _Renee Cass – Nursing/Cleaning/Studying_

 _Anita Cass - Scav_

 _Joel Oswalt - Scav_

 _Elaine ? - Unavailable_

 _Davis Cray – Radio room / Maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen - Scav_

She also added one more line.

 _Comatose bugger – being comatose_

"Shouldn't forget about him," she said, capping the marker. "He might wake up one of these days. Hope he's a bit of an alright bloke."

"Mm."

She sat back down and fatigue washed over her, making her yawn in her fist. "Been a busy day, I'm off to bed if that's alright?"

"Sure," Davis said. "Cindy? To celebrate your new arrival, will you join me in doing the dishes?"

"Ugh," the girl groaned. "Even during a zombie apocalypse there's still damn dishes to be done. Alright, Davey, I'll earn my keep."

"Night everyone," Chelsea said, rising from her chair. "Don't let the bed zombies bite."

She went upstairs, looking forward to oblivion, even if it was on a fake bed made up of two chairs and folded blankets. Sleeping would feel so nice. She only realized it now, but the day had taken a lot out of her. Probably hadn't entirely recovered from the plane crash either. Speaking of not recovered from the plane crash, the flight attendant still sat where she'd been sitting every since Chelsea had woken up. Her hands still in her lap, her head still down. Her eyes were red and her cheeks were still wet. It was good news in a way, if she cried, she was aware, at least to a degree.

"Eya," she said quietly, kneeling beside her. "Doin' a little better?"

The girl just sniffed.

"I don't know what's goin' on inside your head, but you can hear me, right?"

She thought she saw the girl's head nod. Next to her lay a half-eaten Snickers bar and a can of cola, with some liquid left in it. She'd eaten something, apparently, probably thanks to Renee pushing it into her mouth at some point.

"We can… really use your help, love," Chelsea said. "If you can find a way to come back to us, we'd love to get to know you."

Her lips moved.

"What did you say?"

"All my… fault."

Chelsea'd be buggered. The lass had actually spoken. "What is, love? What is your fault?"

"… Everything."

She couldn't possibly mean the whole zombie apocalypse thing. "Everything? Like… the plane crash?"

She winced at the words. "All my… fault."

"No it's not, come on. I was there. It was a passenger. An' the air marshal. It's nobody's _fault_. It just happened."

The girl abruptly broke into a crying fit. What had she meant? How had it possibly been her fault? Not like she'd infected the bloke or anything. The girl hid her face in her hands, sobbing uncontrollably.

Chelsea gently laid a hand on her shoulder. "Want me to leave you alone?"

Her shoulders hitched from the crying, but her head went up and down.

"Alright. Try to eat summat, yeah? Get some sleep?"

There was no response, and Chelsea let the girl be. She couldn't imagine what could have put the thing in such a shock, but it would require a lot of patience to get her out. And she didn't know what useful skills a flight attendant could have, but there was no way she could possibly be more useless than right now. Still, kid gloves for this one, and she'd probably pull through. If she didn't throw herself out of a window first, but there'd be no way to prevent that aside from keeping her under constant guard, and that was just impossible.

She trudged to her classroom (with windows facing South, damn the heat!) and kicked off her shoes and the rest of her clothes, hoisting herself into her orange pyjamas. Somehow it felt better sleeping in those than in her clothes. She lay down on her makeshift bed, looking up at the ceiling with her fingers laced together under her head. She'd never expected any of this to happen. Certainly not the zombie apocalypse, but not the whole leader-gig either. She closed her eyes and smiled when she thought of the odds she'd defied just by being alive. For a moment, she forgot about all the dead people and just focused on feeling lucky and grateful. She fell asleep feeling exactly that.


	4. Day 3 - Among the Living

**.**

* * *

 **DAY 3**

* * *

A knock on the door woke Chelsea from a blissful, dreamless sleep. She opened her eyes, blinking against the light seeping in and smacking her dry mouth a few times.

The knock came again. Someone was at the door. She ran a hand over her face and sat up in her bed, her feet making gentle contact with the vinyl floor.

Another knock. Right, someone at the door. She rose, ignoring the tired and pained whining of her joints, and dragged her feet towards the door. Her hand reached for the doorknob when she checked and realized she wasn't exactly dressed for graceful social contact. "Who is it?" She wasn't going to open the door for Joel or Davis in her jim-jams, that was for sure.

"It's uh, it's Renee… you got a minute?"

That was alright, she supposed. Renee had seen her wearing much less than this, after all. "Sure, yeah, come in." She opened the door, yawning widely.

"Sorry to wake you," Renee almost-whispered. "Cute jammies," she said, noticing Chelsea's sleepwear.

"Thanks," Chelsea muttered, still fighting against the overwhelming urge to fall asleep. "They got little rockets."

"Yes, so I see," the girl smiled. "Hey um… I just wanted to talk to you about last evening."

"Sure, yeah."

"Can I… come in?"

Failing to stifle another yawn, Chelsea stepped back, letting Renee come inside. She sat down on one of the chairs and fidgeted with her hands in her lap.

"I uh, just want to apologize, I guess. Last night, I uh… wasn't myself.""

"Oh, tha'?" Chelsea said back, "I'd forgotten all about it already." That obviously wasn't true, but it was clearly best to show that no real harm had been done.

"I'm just… under a lot of stress, you know?" She looked down at her hands. "The thought of something happening to mom…" She quickly added, "Or, or, or any of you. Just feels… unbearable."

"I know," Chelsea said. "I don't think anyone can blame you for bein' on edge."

"And what I said about the other girl, Elaine, I just… I didn't mean that, I was just completely drained."

"We know." Chelsea leaned forward and took her hands. "Renee. We're all in a terrible situation here, and no one thinks any less of you because you're 'avin' it rough every once in a while. You're doin' amazin', an' everyone knows it."

"Just… please keep my mom safe, alright? I'm sorry if it sounded like I didn't trust you, I do. I'm just… scared."

"Renee," Chelsea said. "I won't let anyone put themselves in danger." Not that that was possible, but what mattered was that this girl believed it, "We're goin' to see what we can find, but the moment it gets hairy, we're pullin' out. Promised."

Renee stood up and gave Chelsea a quick hug. "Careful. My orange rocket pyjamas stink of sleep."

"That's fine," she smiled despite her uncertainty. "I'll uh, see you at breakfast?"

"Yeh."

When Renee had left, she changed into a fresh set of clothes (they needed a washing machine with some urgency) and made her way down. Everyone was up except Cindy, but she joined the table a few minutes later as well. Breakfast was mostly interspersed with small talk about how everyone's night had been, before moving on to the subject of the day's scavenging run. Llano's main street seemed to be the unanimous decision to set as destination, and if any time was left, a quick scouting run through the place's residential area might also be in order. Renee took care to ask emphatically that the group return before dusk. Chelsea didn't intend for the girl's already wracked nerves to become even more frayed, plus travelling at night seemed insanely dangerous to her as well.

After breakfast, Chelsea asked the others to wait for just a little moment while she went back upstairs with a packet of juice and some biscuit (although they called them 'crackers' in this part of the world, Chelsea supposed). She sat down next to Elaine, broke off a bit of cracker and held it out to her. "I can't dunk it in juice, because it's got a straw, like? But you can mix 'em together in your mouth."

Slowly, the girl's hand hovered towards the bit of cracker, her fingers weakly taking it.

"That's it. You've got to eat, love."

She only held the morsel for now, but at least she was responding.

"Ey um, I'd really like to see you come out of your isolation," Chelsea attempted. "So does everyone else. So talk to me, yeah? How're you feelin'?"

The girl sobbed and turned the cracker bit over in her fingers. "It's all my fault."

"What is, love?"

"All those people. I…" Her shoulders hitched. "I killed them."

"What happened?"

"I was… They're dead because of me."

The woman's vagueness was trying her patience, but at least she was talking, even if it was just opaque self-blaming. Her face had cleared up somewhat too. Not the red, swollen eyes or the teary cheeks, but it was far less blank and flat. Her brow knotted slightly at times, her eyes moved, she was coming back to the real world it would seem. Now it would be important not to force it, just take it easy.

"I 'aven't introduced m'self, 'ave I? M'name's Chelsea, but you call me Chel if you like. Everyone 'ere seems to be 'ell-bent on doin' that, anyway. An' you're Elaine, of course. An' I'd like to hear what 'appened, if you're ready for it."

Her free hand went up and she wiped her nose. More response. "I… the plane. I killed them. It's because of me."

"Nah love, I'm pretty sure people were just gannin' radgie at each other. It was the infection."

"I still… killed them."

"How? You were tryin' to protect people. I saw you."

"I can't… not yet," the girl peeped as fresh tears came. "I need… time. I'm sorry."

"Don't be sorry." It was frustrating to make so little progress every time, but at least it was progress, and trying to force it now might undo everything, bring them back to square one. "But promise me one thing?"

No response, but Chelsea knew the girl was listening.

"Stay alive, yeah?" She risked putting her arm around the stewardess' shoulder, and she didn't resist, so she pulled her closer, letting her blonde head rest on her shoulder. "Don't do anything stupid. Just… take as much time as you need, but don't leave us here alone, alright? We'll get through this together."

The girl nodded faintly. Good.

"I'm goin' to leave you now, got lots of adventurous scavengin' to do, but I'll be back. Meanwhile, take care of yourself, get some sleep, eat summat. Punishin' yourself won't do any good."

She stood up, gave the girl's shoulder a squeeze, and went back down. Second time they'd have to go out there. There'd be many more, assuming they stayed alive. It felt like all the supplies they took back with them would only last a day at best. They needed a more efficient means of transport. A shopping cart might be a good idea. Plenty of those around, probably. Wouldn't work in the clarts, but as long as there was road or another hard surface to wheel it on, it'd make for a better way to transport things. If they passed a supermarket, they'd have to pick one up. Not like there'd be any old people hogging them all in this post-apocalyptic shithole.

She rejoined the others, and after some waiting time to let Renee and Anita hug it out, they were on their way, picking up their feet and laying them down as the air slowly heated up.

"Any chance we're passin' a supermarket on the way to Llano?"

The three others thought for a while, but none could answer anything other than "No."

"I was just thinkin', if we twoc a supermarket trolley, we can transport more stuff, yeah?"

Cindy chuckled. "If we can find more stuff _to_ transport, at least."

"Hope springs eternal."

"Our backpacks will have to do for now," Anita said with a sigh. "Hey did Renee come to see you before she left?" she asked Chelsea.

"Yeah, she did. Apologized even though it was completely unnecessary."

"Good. I figured she'd realize on her own that her behaviour wasn't entirely acceptable. You have to understand though, after what happened to Vincent – my husband – she's terrified of bein' left all alone in the world."

Chelsea had to grin at that, though it was without humour. "So, all alone like the rest of us then."

She nodded solemnly. "That's partly why I felt she was out of line. You all have lost everything, and we still have each other. It's unfair to you guys if we'd try to not take responsibility just because we're scared of losin' each other. I know that if I die, it'll be part of God's plan, somehow, at least that's what I've always been told, but it's leavin' Renee behind that scares me."

They were on a larger road, probably what Americans called an Interstate, staying off the actual road but keeping to the side where there were trees to conceal them in case of unfriendly or undead individuals roaming around. There were pile-ups here and there, but most of the cars were completely destroyed. One of them had probably caught fire, and the fire would have simply spread to the other cars, leaving nothing but burned-out husks. Some still had skeletons in them. Chelsea tried not to look.

"Wonder what God's plan was when he let all these innocent people die," Cindy grunted.

"I don't know, hun," Anita said, surprisingly empathetic for someone who seemed to be firmly Christian. "I wish I did. Maybe it'd make this all seem far less awful." She wiped the sweat off her brow with the back of her hand. "Shit, maybe it isn't, maybe we just think it is."

"What do you mean?" Chelsea asked.

"Well… I don't know. Feels like we're all afraid of dyin', but no one really knows why. Maybe death isn't that scary when it's actually there."

"What, like goin' Heaven an' tha'? Eatin' rice porridge with golden spoons?"

Anita laughed briefly, seemingly aware of how silly the concept of Heaven really was, but she said, "No, I don't think that's what it's like. But I don't think we have any real reason to be so scared of death. I really do think that God will, I don't know, have somethin' ready for us when we get called to Him."

"Not for me," Chelsea grinned. "Never been to church in all my life, 'cept for my first communion, an' that was just for the presents."

Her surgical mask back over her face, Cindy piped up, "Think God had a plan when he took your husband and left you and your daughter alone to grieve?"

Anita seemed to have a remarkable gift for staying kind even when met with such a confrontational question. "Yes, I think he did. I hope so, at least. Maybe death really is just a stop along the way and he's in a better place right now. Maybe God just saves us instead of killing us, but we just don't realize it. Maybe fear of death is nothin' more than fear of the unknown."

"Possible," Chelsea said, "But even if it's, you know, salvation and he's really doin' us a kindness, it's still pretty unjust to leave you two behind in sadness and pain without even understandin', is it? Dun' seem like a righteous God to me, d'you know wha' I mean like?"

Anita sighed. "I know. I asked myself the very same question, just like everyone else who's lost someone dear, I think. And my faith isn't always as strong as I'd want it to be, but even with everything that's happened around us, I still think some day we'll know the reason, and maybe understand."

"Maybe he was just in the bathroom when all this happened," Cindy remarked sourly.

"Do you miss him?" Chelsea felt compelled to ask.

"Every single day, hun. Even though I know I'll see him again one day, it still hurts like hell. He wasn't perfect, but he was a good man, Chelsea. Lovin' husband, lovin' father. Didn't always show it the right way, but it as there. He loved Renee and me with all his heart, and we both knew that. Every single day."

It had been the same in Tilly's house, and Chelsea had always been wistful for the same thing, but her parents… well, love wasn't the only thing a family needed to be happy.

She felt Anita's hand on her shoulder. "I know it all hurts. And I'm not gonna preach to you, but I want you to know we're here for you. We're all here for each other."

"We are. We have to be. Thanks for takin' me in, Anita. You an' Joel an' Davis an' Renee. We're each other's family now, aren't we?"

Anita laughed. "We sure are. What a family, huh? A newly graduated vet, an English chick who wears track pants, a rookie deputy, a fireman in a wheelchair and an old-ass butch truck driver." She looked back at Cindy, "And now joinin' us, the high school ne'er-do-well."

"Thanks to y'all from me too," Cindy said with a smile, her thumbs hooked around the straps of her backpack. "For trustin' me. Ain't gonna be an easy life but at least I'm not alone anymore."

"Yup," Joel agreed with a sigh. "Dyin' with company's much better than dyin' alone."

"I know a lot of people," Cindy pointed out, "Who'd be far more positive if they were the only guy in a group with three amazin' ladies."

"Farthest thing on my mind right 'bout now," Joel flatly said.

Cindy giggled, "Guess I'll just look to Anita and Chel for validation then." She came to walk in between them and threw her arms around their shoulders. "Joel takes us for granted, but we deserve more respect, don't we."

Anita was amused, but still said, "I think Joel's just got his mind on other things. Like most of us."

"Understandable," Cindy chirped. "Me, I'm just glad I'm alive."

They should all be. And yet, why was it so hard to just be grateful and not feel torn-up about all the other things? Chelsea realized she understood how Elaine must be feeling. It must be so tempting to just close off and retreat from the world and not have to face all the sorrow and pain.

She decided not to be negative and to concentrate on the here-and-now, and said, "We're glad you're alive too, Cindy."

The chance that this girl would dick them over was minimal. She would've done so already if that was what she wanted. Might as well make her feel welcome without being suspicious.

"Alright so," Cindy said. "We're comin' up on the Llano commercial district. Best if we're careful from here on out. Bound to be dead'uns around."

"Right," Anita sighed. "Back to business."

Most of the surrounding countryside had been left more or less intact, but nearly all residential, industrial or otherwise settled areas had seen much destruction. Many of the houses were burnt-out shells after riots, panic sprees and accidents, and some were even reduced to brick-filled craters. Seemed the military had even tried to bomb places as a last resort. Until they, too, had been most likely overrun.

"How I always did it," Cindy said quietly, "or uh, Freya and I always did it, was to empty one place, stash the loot somewhere, and then move on. That way, if we needed to bail during a search, we could run without being weighted down and come back for our loot afterward."

"Good idea," Joel had to admit.

The slowly, quietly walked onto the district's main street, taking in their surroundings. Most places were wrecked or looted, only a few seemed still somewhat likely to hold anything. The district was mostly local businesses, no real big chains, except the Diamondback Hardware store Cindy had spoken about. There was an ice cream parlour called "2 Girls 1 Cone", a pet store, and a men's clothing store called "Suit You, Sir."

"Shit," Cindy hissed, pointing at the hardware store. "Looted already. Fuckin' 'ell."

She was right, the place was clearly ransacked, its front door wide open and empty cardboard boxes spilling out into the street. A small van with the store logo had actually crashed right into the storefront, flattening its nose and leaving its wheels suspended thirty centimetres above the pavement. "Ey but tha' van? Might still be summat in there?"

"Probably locked though," Joel muttered. "Gonna be almost impossible to bust it open without noise."

"Lotta deaders around too," Cindy whispered in her Southern drawl, which felt so incongruous with her dark skin and exotic eyes. Chelsea knew it was a cliché, but when she heard a Texan accent, she immediately associated it with white blokes.  
She was right though. Lots of rank gadgies. There were at least six in the street, counting the two in the Diamondback Hardware overalls. There were two paramedics, in their blue uniforms as opposed to the green ones back home. One was dead – of the 'real' dead variety – while the other still stood, its head lolling back on his neck. At its feet lay a jogger, its legs broken and its clothes torn, dried blood everywhere. Tyre skid marks explained why the scene looked the way it did. The actual ambulance lay a ways farther, on its side after another car had smashed into it. On the other side of the street stood a man wearing a paper hat and an apron that said 'ASAHINA'S DONUTS'. Its cart was nowhere to be seen.

Six was too many, they shouldn't tangle with those. They'd have to be really quiet.

"I think," Anita said, "that maybe if we take out the two overalls guys quietly, we should be able to check the van, right Cindy?"

"If we do it _real_ quiet-like, then yeah."

The fact that Anita asked Cindy first didn't go unnoticed to Chelsea. It wasn't all that good a sign, because things like these were reliable indicators of where trust really lay. Cindy had the experience, more than they did at least, so it made sense, but still, leadership was a heavy burden, and having others upstage her would only make it more difficult.

"Alright, so stay low and quiet," Chelsea said. When Cindy made to start creeping forward, Chelsea put a hand on her shoulder and said, "I'll go first." Even though it terrified her shitless.

"Sure, I'm right on your ass."

Chelsea slowly inched out onto the street, crouching low. Sweat trickled down her back and over her brow. It was getting hot, but that wasn't the biggest reason she was sweating. The paramedic briefly jerked its dead head in her direction, with a short, low gurgle, but after she stayed motionless for a moment, its head rolled back to its original position. Phew.

She was close now, feeling Cindy hovering behind her. She briefly looked back and the girl gave her a tense nod. The Diamondback guys were thankfully standing with their backs to them, so the kills should be pretty straightforward… although they probably never would be when it came to those things.

She was close enough now to stop and wait for the rest to catch up, and they did. When all four were crouching, just a metre or two away from the dead guys, Cindy quietly mouthed, _"base of the skull"_ , mimicking a hard horizontal blow.

Anita nodded, crept toward the zombie on the left, while Chelsea snuck up on the right one. Joel stayed in the middle, possibly because he wanted to help out where needed, or because he was simply indecisive. Or hoped he wouldn't have to help. That was probably it. Cindy lagged behind, her screwdriver useless against these things. Maybe the Diamondback van would have a better weapon.

Anita raised herself up, and so did Chelsea. They both swung their weapons simultaneously, Anita's bat crushing the worker's skull with a wet _thunk_ while Chelsea's hammer buried itself in the head of the other with a soggy _crack_. Anita's victim crumpled immediately, Chelsea had to level a second blow at the other before it could turn around, this one striking it in the remains of its cerebellum, splattering brain matter into the pavement before it too, fell down. She tried not to feel sorry for them, to tell herself they were doing the things a favour, but they were still _people_.

Cindy turned back to them after having kept an eye on the remaining deaders and stuck two thumbs up. Chelsea briefly wiped the head of her hammer on the dead man's overalls, then joined the others in inspecting the van. Joel carefully tried the rear doors, but they were, of course, locked.

"Maybe we can get in through the front?" Chelsea whispered.

"Don't think so," Cindy breathed back. "Cabin's probably separate and all that broken glass in the doors would make it a death trap anyway."

"Fuck," Joel said. "So how do we get in?"

Anita scratched her head, nervously looking back at the remaining deaders. "Would be shit if we did all this for nothing."

"We can force it," Cindy whispered, "but that'll probably trigger the alarm, an' even if it doesn't, it's still goan be loud."

They were missing what was right in front of them. Or, more likely, at their feet. With a smirk, Chelsea kneeled down, though her smug face quickly became knotted with disgust when she stuck her hand in the dead man's overall pockets, feeling the revolting coldness of his dead meat against her hand. She found what she wanted though, and was able to pull her hand back rather quickly, thankfully. Suppressing a shiver, she held up the keys to the van.

Cindy laughed and quietly mimicked slapping herself on the forehead.

All that was left to do was point the keys at the van and press the button.

 _TWIT-TWIT!_

Shite, that was loud. All four of them, startled by the loud noise and what it might bring, froze and stared at the zombies.

Oh fuck. The paramedic gargled, jerking its body around to face them, the jogger making a similar noise and scratching at the pavement, broken bones crunching as it tried to move its legs. The donut man, too, stood hunched over, staring intently in their direction.

For one moment, they could only hear each other's shaky breathing, then the paramedic growled low and began lurching towards them. The donut man followed.

"Take 'em out," Cindy said. "We can do this. Joel, don't shoot, don't you fuckin' shoot."

Joel's sweaty hands only held his baton, thankfully, as he hissed at Cindy, "I ain't no idiot, _idiot_!"

"Steady," Anita said quietly. "We just stay calm, we've done this before. Just let 'em come in striking distance, and _bam_."

"Only two of 'em. Easy as takin' kets from a bairn," Chelsea confirmed. She had to be calm in situations like this or she'd get no respect from these people.

"Whatever that means," Cindy said. She turned to watch the others' backs. Probably the most useful thing she could do at the moment.

They came lurching closer, the paramedic dragging one feet, both with their hands stretched out into claws. They were slow, and coming straight at them, so all it took was proper timing. Bringing the weapon down just at the right moment. She shot a quick look at Joel, who nodded. "I'll flank 'em," he said, "Get 'em from the side."

Of course he would. The least risky job. Still no time to be focusing on others' shortcomings. There were zombies to kill, and people to protect.

They stood their ground, the donut man coming straight at Chelsea, the paramedic lurching in Anita's direction. The jogger was still dragging herself across the asphalt, its clothes torn almost completely off, but it moved laughably slowly, one of its arms also powerless from broken bones.

The paramedic let itself fall forward, swiping its clawed hands downward. Anita managed to sidestep just in time and brought her bat down, exploding the dead man's skull, sending its rotten brains flying out in a brown starburst, while Chelsea struck the donut man across the face with her hammer, but a sudden jerk of its head making the blow graze its face instead, smacking off its nose, several of its upper teeth, and the paper hat. Joel, too, was caught by surprise after the sudden spasm, and his swing struck the donut man in the shoulder, glancing off with little to no effect.

Before it could attack again, however, Chelsea brought her knee up and thrust her foot forward in a hard kick, making sure to put her hip into the kick as well. Her running shoe connected with the man's chest, catching it right on the apron. Its arms flailed as it lost balance and went down, and the next moment, Joel let his baton come down, crushing the thing's forehead along with the entire top of its skull.

Chelsea swallowed in relief, taking a brief moment to exchange triumphant faces with the others.

"Leave the other one," Cindy said, still hushed but no longer whispering. "It'll take it an hour to get here. No point riskin' it."

She was right. There was no way the sad thing would reach them at this rate. It didn't seem to be moving forward at all, just writhing on the asphalt. Chelsea felt sorry for it, but she realized the person this had once been, didn't feel anything anymore. Or at least, she hoped so.

Cindy pulled the van's back doors open and hopped inside. "Shit," she announced. "Got loadsa tools in here. Davis gon' be happier than a pig in shit."

There were a few grunts from the van, and Cindy stuck out a small collapsible trolley. "An' we got the means to haul it back to boot."

"Hah," Anita exclaimed. "We're in luck."

"Still wish you'd hurry though," Joel remarked. "That zombie's still floppin' about. I don't trust it."

"Just a sec," Cindy grunted, crawling to the far end of the van's back while the others watched. "It's all secured with lashin' straps. Just gotta… hmph!"

"All in good time, love," Chelsea said. There was no real hurry.

"Almost… got it… there!"

This was a definite morale booster. Tools were indispensable. Food was urgent and all, but without tools, the shelter would fall apart around them, and if it did, it would be too late to start looking. And the good thing was that tools didn't constantly need replenishing like food did. If they got their haul back safely, they'd be set, at least in that regard.

"Well, this was mighty kind of you folks."

The voice made their heads turn, towards the five people that had sneaked up behind them.

"We'll be takin' those, thanks."

There were five of them, dressed in reinforced leather. Two women, three men. The womens' leather biker vests were unadorned, the men had the telltale ribbons of a motorcycle club. All wore helmets and covered their faces with kerchiefs. Even more worrying were the weapons they held. The male and female in front held a sawed-off shotgun and an AK-47 look-alike assault rifle respectively. The others bore a machete, a fire axe and a large kukri. A fight would not go the way of the Splendid High inhabitants.

"Look," Chelsea began. "There's enough for all of us, yeah? We can just divvy it up amongst – "

The leader of the bikers shook his head. On his chest were tags that said 'COYOTES MC TEXAS' and 'SGT-AT-ARMS'. Thankfully, none of them seemed to recognize Chelsea. "Afraid that ain't happenin'. I need all of you to raise your hands and step away from the loot. No sudden movements. And that also goes for the chick inside that van who thinks we don't know she's there."

"Look man," Joel said, sounding only a little bit whiny. "We found these things fair and square. We even fought those zombies for 'em. We can share, I mean, if you just take what you need an' leave the rest for us, we – "

"I said no," the leader said, his voice still calm, gentle, and even. "Now step away from the van. And you, in there, come on out before we shoot that thing full of holes with you in it."

Cindy clambered out of the van, her face a silent thunderstorm.

"Hey," one of the bikers leered. "She's pretty cute. Can we take 'er along? You know, give us somethin' to keep ourselves warm durin' the night?"

Cindy immediately spat out, "I ain't goin' anywhere with you, you cross-eyed shit."

He lifted his machete and took a step in her direction. "Sweetheart, if we say you're comin' with us, you're comin' with us, it don't matter how _you_ feel about it."

Chelsea silently begged Cindy to keep quiet, any more lip from her and they would shoot her on the spot, and the rest of them too, probably.

"You leather-sniffers just keep suckin' each other's dicks, it's the only time you'll ever be able to get someone off."

Chelsea winced and waited for the shots to come. They'd blow her head off for that, Coyotes didn't fuck around. "L-look," she stammered, her eyes closed. "There's no reason – "

"Chino, shut the fuck up," the bikers' leader said calmly. "You're pitchin' a fit over stupid shit."

Chelsea let the air escape from her lungs, not caring who heard it. They might still shoot them, but not yet, at least. The gun pointed at her chest made her feel like she needed to pee.

"Ain't stupid shit," the other biker protested. "Pussy ain't stupid shit."

"Are you a fuckin' idiot? Did you forget the charter of the Club? Huh? The rules? This one's been in the oven too long for us, and you fuckin' know it."

"What the Hell, Dave, I just thought – "

"Don't think. It's not a pretty sight." He turned back to Chelsea and her friends. "Now, you four. Last time. Step away from the van and keep your hands where I can see them, and you all get to leave here alive."

Chelsea knew that nothing could stop them from taking what they wanted, and she wasn't prepared to die over these tools, no matter how badly they needed them, not get one of her friends killed for them.

"We can just shoot 'em," the woman with the AK said. "Quickest and easiest."

"Look," Anita said, trying to sound calm. "There's no need for that, we'll let you take whatever you want."

"Oh," the woman threatened back, "I know you will."

The biker leader let out a grunting sigh, lowering his head. "Shooting them wastes ammo and makes noise. Noise brings corpses. Corpses bring trouble."

The woman with the kukri helpfully suggested, "We can chop their heads off? That don't make much noise?"

"Yes, we can," the leader said back, his patience wearing thin, "but so far they're complyin', and if they let us leave with the loot, they've been good boys and girls and we don't kill good boys and girls."

"Can we at least do the pig?" the fifth guy wanted to know. "Y'know, ACAB and all that?"

Joel immediately piped up with a shaky voice, "Hey look now – "

"Quiet, cop. No one dies if you're smart. Now keep movin'."

They cleared the way, much as it grated to do so.

"Not you," the biker said to Cindy. "You're gonna unload all the boxes. Punishment for givin' us so much lip. Get to it."

She thankfully kept her mouth shut and crawled back into the van, letting the three toolboxes bang down on the ground next to the cart. "That's all there is."

The Coyote leader motioned for his men to get moving. "Load it up on that cart, then get it to the truck."

The three bikers without a firearm did as they were told, quickly stacking all the loot onto the push cart, taking it all. It broke Chelsea's heart, but the only thing that mattered now was staying alive. At a distance, the jogger still squirmed on the asphalt, tearing its fingers on the hard tarmac.

The three flunkies pushed the cart away, towards the other side of main street, past the ice cream store, presumably where the van was parked. Chelsea risked a quick glance behind her, towards her friends. Joel was white as a sheet, sweat in big drops on his forehead. Anita had her eyes closed, her mouth faintly moving. Cindy just looked angry, her brow knotted and her mouth pulled up high.

A few moments later, a black pick-up slowly came rolling down the street. Two of the biker minions sat in the bed, one hidden behind the tinted windshield. The two with guns waited for the truck to crawl alongside. With a wet crunch, the truck's tyres flattened the writhing, clawing jogger into broken bones and mush.

The leader opened the passenger door when the truck reached him, while the female kept her gun on Chelsea's group. Only when he was inside and had his shotgun pointed out the window, did the woman hop into the truck bed, levelling the AK at them as soon as she was in position.

"Bummer, folks," the biker said. "You lost this one, here's to better luck in the future."

None of them felt like responding to that.

"Well, hope there's no hard feelings." He chuckled. "For your sake." He slapped his hand on the roof of the truck, and the vehicle drove off.

"Shit-eatin' exhaust-fuckers," Cindy growled in her thickest Texan. "This sucks the big one."

"It does," Chelsea had to agree. "This isn't what I meant when I said I hoped there'd be other survivors."

"I'm just glad they didn't kill us," Anita said, and even though she was right, it was only a small consolation.

"I really thought they were gonna just mow us down at one point," Joel breathed, his voice shaky. "They'd be stupid to start firin' guns here, but… these guys ain't exactly smart."

"Yeah, Joel," Chelsea said, "Maybe if you stop and think for a second, you might realize that the heavily-armed, better-organised bikers, who actually had a runnin' vehicle, might be smarter than you give 'em credit for, yeah?"

"Chel's right," Cindy agreed. "The biggest mistake you can make is think these guys are idiots. Well, aside from the casual racism."

"Yeah, well," Chelsea said, "We've got bigger problems than your skin bein' insulted. These gobshites took all our tools."

"Not all of 'em," Cindy said, her face clearing up somewhat, but only a little. "Managed to squirrel a few things away under this ratty old blanket." She crawled back into the van and unloaded a small box of tools, not more than a collection of screws, some wrenches and a pair of pliers or two, but it was something. "Got sumthin' for you too, Chel." Her hand emerged from the van's back, holding an orange crowbar, the two-handed version.

Chelsea took it with a significant amount of pleasure. "Gonna bonk some zombie heads with this."

"Yeah," Cindy muttered while she rummaged. "Just don't make a crate-joke, it's horribly cliché. This one I'm keepin," she said hopping back out with a pipe wrench, just as orange as the crowbar. "And finally, somethin' for Anita too." The last thing she took out was a big, two-handed sledgehammer. It was an old thing, and its yellow rubber head wobbled on the stem, but one blow from that thing looked like it could completely demolish any skull it came into contact with.

Anita took it, weighing it in her hands. "Looks great for getting that song out of someone's head… as well as anything else inside."

"Somehow I don't think you're the first one who's said exactly that about a sledgehammer," Chelsea remarked.

"You kept all that hidden from those Coyotes?" Joel asked. "That was stupid. If they'd noticed, they'd have killed us all."

Cindy brushed the dirt off the ass of her jeans and said, "But they didn't, and they didn't."

"They could've. You risked our lives for a bunch of toys."

Cindy only responded by putting her hands in her sides and frowning.

"Say somethin', Chelsea," Joel snapped, "This idiot could've gotten us all killed thinkin' she's smart."

"Easy Joel," Chelsea began, but he cut her off.

"No, ain't gonna be easy about this," he bit at her. "You wanna be in charge, you need to make some responsible decisions an' step in when some hotdog puts the whole group at risk for two screws an' a wrench!"

"I took a gamble, an' it paid off," Cindy shouted back. "If Chel listened to you, you'd probably still be cowerin' an' starvin' in the school basement."

Anita tried to calm things down. "Guys, come on. It worked out well. No need to argue over this. Plus, you'll bring every zombie runnin' with all your darn yellin'."

Joel wouldn't have it. He jabbed a finger at Chelsea and snarled, "If this is the kind of reckless behavior you approve of, then I ain't sure we ought to be listenin' to you."

"Pft," Cindy blew before Chelsea could answer. "This is a fuckin' zombie apocalypse, Joel, in case you hadn't noticed. Cowardice is gonna kill us sure as anythin' else."

"Chelsea," Joel growled. "I'm awaitin' your answer here. Do you approve of this behavior?"

Shit, they both had a point. It had been pretty reckless of Cindy to stash some of the tools. If those Coyotes had done a quick check, they would've executed them all on the spot. On the other hand, Cindy wasn't wrong either. If they didn't take chances, this world would chew them up and swallow them. Going out in itself had been a risk already, and Chelsea had argued the same thing Cindy did now to get them to leave the shelter. But was it really the same thing? Scavenging was risky, but it was a necessary risk. Had this been necessary? She was bummed out about the lost tools too, but it had been a tremendous and borderline stupid chance Cindy had taken. She could see Joel's point as well as she could see Cindy's.

"Go on," Cindy interrupted her thoughts. "Tell this guy why hidin' in the closet is a sure ticket to death."

"Alright, here's wha' I think," Chelsea began. What she would say right now would make or break her as a leader. She'd have to keep both sides of the conflict from feeling ignored or put in the wrong. On the other hand, she had to make sure both of them realized the other did have a point. She didn't know how they'd react. "Cindy took a massive risk – "

" _Thank_ you," Joel huffed.

"… but it was one that paid off. I absolutely understand what you're sayin', Joel, 'bout not puttin' the group at risk. But I also understand why Cindy did what she did. It's difficult to see what risks are worth takin' and which ones aren't. This was… maybe a bit much."

Cindy crossed her arms and looked at her with impatient scepticism.

"But I do think that Cindy's clever enough to know when she can get away with summat and when she can't. It was a huge risk. Too huge, maybe, but she did what she thought was best. I can't fault her for summat that ended well."

"Well I can," Joel grunted, but his outrage seemed to have lessened somewhat. There was still simmering anger in his eyes, but at least he wasn't shouting and making noise anymore. "But at least you agree that it was gosh darned stupid."

"I didn't say it was _stupid_ ," Chelsea corrected him. "Just dangerous."

Cindy shook her head. "Shit, Chel, I hadn't taken you for an appeaser tryin' to settle things with half-baked compromises an' middle-grounds you don't really believe in yourself. I'm disappointed in you."

"I'm not appeasin'," she said back. "Come on, Cindy, Joel's got a point. I'm not sayin' I agree entirely, but I can understand why he's upset. If this had gone the wrong way we'd be corpses on the street." She paused, trying to find the words, and eventually settled for, "But I _am_ grateful you managed to pull some tools out of the fire for us."

She crossed her arms and one of her eyebrows, as well as one corner of her mouth went up. "Your sweet-talkin' needs work. But alright, fine. I promise I'll be very careful when I take chances."

Joel, however, gave Chelsea a disapproving frown. "Now you're just flip-floppin'. We need a leader who's willin' to take a stand. Right now you're just tryin' to keep the peace. Sayin' what you think we want to hear. That ain't leadership."

Chelsea didn't know how to respond, but Anita did. "Neither of you know the first thing about leadership, or about resolving conflicts," she said. Her voice was calm, but the finality of what she said was unmistakably audible. "So far, you two have done nothing but belittle each other based on petty squabbles from the past. It's 'cause of Chel that the both of you haven't scratched each other's eyes out yet, so instead of placin' demands on her, you might wanna follow her example and show each other some support instead of actin' like children."

Joel began, "Anita, you don't know wh – "

"No, Joel. You should both know better. You especially. So before you criticize Chel, both of you take a look at yourselves. I like you both, very much. Even you, Cindy, after a day. But you two need to sort your stuff out or we might as well hang it up. We need each other. You two need each other."

"We need each other," Chelsea agreed. She'd have to say some insightful words too, because Anita had unwittingly upstaged her just now. "I know that the past 'asn't give you much reason to trust each other, Joel and Cindy, but you've both grown since then. An' I know you're both tryin' to do what's best for yourselves and for the rest of the group, but what's best for the group, right now, is that you both take a second to stop. An' just try to wipe the past away and start off fresh. You're different from each other, but that doesn't have to be a cause for conflict. We've got enough things tryin' to kill us out there, yeah?"

Cindy sighed and hitched up her pants, looking away.

"S'pose you're right," Joel actually admitted. "Bygones, Cindy?"

She shrugged in response. "Sure. Bygones."

It wasn't whole-hearted for either of them, but it was a start. "Cool. Because we need both of you."

"Mm."

The atmosphere was still tense, but maybe if they both took some time to think about what had been said, they'd realize they were acting like children. And that attitude was just fine in a high school when the world was still a safe, civilized place, but in this apocalypse, childish behaviour was a luxury no one could afford.

"Right, let's go."

Cindy and Joel were mute during the walk to Llano's small residential area, but Chelsea felt that they were quiet more out of a need for silent reflection than as a way to show their displeasure. Things probably had to sink in a bit.

The surroundings were dismal. The Texan countryside itself was nice enough to behold, but the road they were walking on was dotted with wrecks, some burned-out, others just banged up. Every once in a while, they had to get off the road to circumnavigate a massive pile-up. Looking into the car'(s trunks was too dangerous, they'd all agreed, since almost all cars had alarms these days. Here and there, people had tried to escape their vehicles, but most hadn't gotten very far. Chelsea had to look away when she saw the corpse of a teenager lying dead with her pants and underwear around her ankles and a fifty-year-old man shot dead next to her.

"Don't look, hun. Nothing we can do." Anita walked next to her, quietly saying, "Let's hope they get it into their skulls that pettiness won't help us, huh?" It was clearly a way to distract themselves from the ghastly sights, but it was welcome.

"Yeah, let's. Thanks for stickin' up for me there. I don't know if I said the right things, but you definitely did."

"So did you, hun. I only said what we all knew. And I meant it, it's because of you that we're still more or less coherent as a group. It's only since you woke up that we actually got the courage together to explore outside to start with."

"It was either that or dyin' slowly. Wasn't really courage, just what was necessary."

"What's necessary often takes a lot of courage too."

Chelsea stopped for a moment, spotting something interesting. "Ey, Anita? That car boot's open. Maybe there's summat inside."

"Mm. Let's check. Joel? Cindy?" When they both looked back at them, Anita pointed at the open car trunk. They halted and waited for Chelsea to investigate.

Chelsea carefully approached the vehicle without incident. Inside the trunk was a small travelling suitcase. She took it out and laid it on the asphalt.

"No shamblers around," Joel said. "You can just break it open, I reckon."

When she saw the suitcase's code wheel, she said back, "Don't think I'll need to." It was still set to 000. She pushed the spring release buttons and the suitcase's latches snapped open. It contained mostly ladies' clothing, and rummaging through it revealed some more things: a small sponge bag with toothbrush, hairbrush and a bit of cosmetics, a book in a language she didn't know, and some deodorant. And one other thing.

"Anita, found the deodorant you asked for."

She held it up and heard Anita cheer, "Nice, Chel! No better feelin' than feelin' clean!" The next moment, the deodorant slipped out from between her fingers.

She stuck the toiletries in her own bag. The toothbrush would be too icky, but the rest could still serve. "Cindy, you can have the last thing."

"Why, what is it?"

She held up the silver-coloured vibrator.

With a short chuckle, Cindy called back, "Cute, Chel. Don't touch that, you don't know where it's been."

The girl had a point, Chelsea realized, dropping the tuna investigator and trying not to imagine its previous adventures as it clattered to the ground.

She was just about to close the suitcase again, when her eye fell on a bit of chrome sticking out between a fold in the lid. Her fingers slid inside and immediately recognized the feeling of a gun grip. She pulled it out and discovered it was a small pistol, probably a tiny calibre, but still, a pistol. "Joel, you know what this is?"

He came closer, kneeling beside her and taking the weapon from her. "Phoenix brand pistol," he muttered. Chelsea swallowed her remark that she, too, could read the engraving on the thing's slide. He slid the magazine out of the gun and said, ".22 caliber, looks like. In decent condition. No bullets though."

Chelsea felt around in the lid's compartment and sadly had to conclude he was right. Still, it was something. "Maybe we'll find some ammunition for it down the line, yeah?"

"Mm, maybe. Worth takin' along, even without a holster."

Chelsea felt the same way, sliding the pistol in her sports bag. It was a sad fact that weapons were always a good idea to bring along.

"A twenty-two?" Cindy asked, a smirk on her face. "Isn't that, like, a peashooter? Only good for killin' rats and crows?"

" _No_ , Cindy," Joel said in a tone that sounded like barely-held-back condescension. "A shot from a .22 in the face will still ruin your day just as much as anythin' else."

Chelsea sighed, expecting yet another argument, but surprisingly, Cindy managed to stick to, "Oh. Didn't know that."

Joel, too, succeeded in responding with a somewhat friendly, "Yeah, you don't need a hand cannon to kill a person. If the shot's well-placed, it don't take much." He picked at his fingernails, probably to avoid eye contact with Cindy. That was alright. Baby steps were still steps.

"We're almost there," Cindy announced, "Llano residential's just up ahead."

Just like the commercial district, Llano's residential area was hardly worthy of the name. More than three quarters of the two-street 'town centre' had been bombed, burned or otherwise destroyed, leaving only two intact houses. Zombies were in the streets, there was one every ten metres, and the entire group numbered at least thirty.

"They notice us, we're dead," Joel let it be known.

"We'll need to be quiet then," Cindy said. No snarky remarks about him pointing out the obvious or already whining about dying. Good. "I'll go first?"

Chelsea realized that even though it might be a good idea to let Cindy go first, she also knew she couldn't let the other girl take on too much of an example role during scavenging. People respected a leader who took point, not one who let others stick their heads out. She'd been tested an hour ago and hadn't exactly made a huge impression – although it could have been much worse – and so she'd have to profile herself a bit more assertively from now on. If she wanted the respect of these people, she'd have to be the one to push the cart. "Nah Cindy, 'salright, I'll go, you watch my back."

Cindy smiled with not a hint of disapproval in her face. "Alright, I gotcha."

As before, it was all a question of staying low and staying quiet. Chelsea had a feeling they'd be doing that a whole lot more as the days went on. If they weren't dead first. Her sneakers made it easy to stay quiet, unlike Anita's work boots or Joel's uniform shoes. Those were especially noisy, as reinforced dress shoes tended to be. Still, they didn't make enough noise to alert the corpses, rotting in the sun as they stood. One of them was a boy half as tall as the others. Chelsea pushed the sadness at these people's fates away and focused on the door of the house, a white plane of wood set in a yellow-plastered house.

She felt a gentle tap on her shoulder and turned to see Cindy stashing her backpack in a bush right next to them. Chelsea passed her the sports bag and she hid it as well. Anita and Joel did the same with their bags.

That's right, hiding their stuff before searching was safer. Stash the bags, clear out the house, then loot the place in quiet.

They nodded at each other and Chelsea cleared the last paces to the door, gently pushing it open. No locks, thankfully. She crept inside, into the main corridor. It was a small bungalow, its interior walls as yellow as the outside, ugh, and with small cabinets set against the sides here and there. Two doorways on each side and one at the end, which probably gave out in the combined living room-kitchen.

In the middle of the hallway stood a man, slowly swaying from side to side, his back to them. No longer a man. Another dead one. To get to him, they'd have to pass the first doorways. The danger of being attacked from the side as they got ready to bonk the creature on the head was very real. She turned and with her two fingers, pointed at her eyes, then to the two doors in the side. The others nodded. They'd have to watch the sides while Chelsea took care of the deader.

She rose to her full height and sneaked closer, her hands sweaty around the crowbar. One blow, one kill. Carefully, she stuck hear head forward and looked to both sides into the doorways, but no one was there. One more step and she was in range. She closed her eyes, took a breath and opened them again, bringing the crowbar down on the dead man's skull. He let out a raw gurgle and collapsed as his head split in two, stinking brain matter splattering out.

Behind her, Cindy whispered, "Tango down."

Chelsea looked down on the body and wished she hadn't. The man was only an adolescent, a few years younger than she was. It was a sight she'd have to get used to, because she'd be seeing it a whole lot more.

"Don't let it get to you," Anita whispered. "You're doin' them a mercy."

"I know." She cleared her head and said, "We should split up. Joel and Anita, you take the living room," she nudged her head at the end of the hallway, "Cindy, we'll take the two remaining rooms." The two doors they'd passed had been open, but these were closed, and it'd be risky to enter and search the place while potential threats still remained. Joel and Anita crept forward while Chelsea opened one of the side doors, carefully sticking her head in. It was a bedroom with American football posters on the wall. She could guess whose that was. "Empty," she whispered to Cindy. The other girl turned and opened the door on her side. "Nuthin'."

She looked at the end of the hallways and saw Joel sticking up a thumb.

"Area clear. I'll search the first two rooms," Cindy said, no longer whispering. "You search these?"

"Alright."

The boy's bedroom wasn't all that exciting in terms of treasure, mostly clothing and school gear, but Chelsea did take a sheaf of drawing paper and some pencils. You never knew if one of them was an artist without knowing it. She felt dirty searching through these people's belongings. Shops and hardware store vans were alright, but these were people's private places. But it was that or starve. Quietly, she asked the body in the hallway, "You want us to survive, right?" She assumed the answer would be yes. If it was her lying on the ground as a stinking rotting corpse, she'd want the people who still lived to use her stuff for good things too. And at least it was them taking their things. Decent people. Not Coyotes or the looters that had shot Cindy's friend. It was some consolation, and she fancied it would be for these dead people too.

She also took a look at the books on the shelf of the boy's desk. Most were school books or light science-y stuff, along with a lot of books on American football, but there was one she did slide out. "Bild A Gadda Da Vida." The name was strange as balls, but it was a book on gardening, apparently. She opened it and saw mostly ways to plant pot, but at least the first section had some basic gardening tips. Strange that this kid had had this book right there, in his desk, where his parents could find it. She took it with her. Being able to grow one's own food was always useful.

Maybe being able to grow their own skunk might be, too.

In the closets, it was again mostly clothes, but she did take the spare blanket and pillow. She was callin' bagsy on that, no discussion. A good leader had to be well rested. She placed her prizes in the hallway and searched the opposite room.

She wasn't prepared for the sight that met her, but nobody could be. Two people, dressed in pyjamas, lay in the double bed. They were both dead, but neither of them had turned. In the middle of the woman's pyjama top was a dark brown hole. The man had his arm around her, a small hole in his cheek and a gaping one in his skull on the opposite side of his head. In his free hand lay a heavy revolver.

Would every day be like this? Just discover more pain and horror? She knew she had to search the place, and that there was no point in refusing to do so – these people were dead and they weren't – but she still had to consciously force herself to start going through the room's contents. The closets, again, contained mostly clothes, but on the deceased woman's night stand was a small bottle of over-the-counter painkillers and a light romance novel. Both would find a new use at the shelter. She didn't go into the actual night stands – there were lines decent people did not cross – but the novel and pills, she did take. The man's night stand only had a pair of reading glasses and a half-completed crossword puzzle. The last thing she needed to take was the most difficult.

"I'm sorry," she whispered. "But you don't need these things anymore, and we do." She took the heavy revolver by the barrel and slid it out of the dead man's fingers. Thankfully, they were no longer rigid and gave up their property willingly. The cylinder had been full when the shots were fired, so there were four bullets probably remaining. And perhaps the others had found some reserve ammunition.

She cleaned the rubber grip with a piece of cloth (no disrespect intended) and met up with the others in the hallway. Cindy had found some toothpaste, a small box of band-aids, a bottle of shower gel and two towels in the bathroom, and some laundry detergent in the washroom, as well as a small canister of gasoline for the lawnmower. Joel and Anita's prizes were a small fleece blanket, a few DVDs (although the player and television had apparently been smashed when part of the ceiling had collapsed from the bombing) and some magazines and other reading material. From the kitchen, they'd scored a sealed mayonnaise and ketchup bottle, as well as a small sack of potatoes, a wrinkled zucchini, some instant coffee and some dry crackers and cereal. The rest had all perished or wasn't worth carrying all the way back. Taking out a knife, Joel carved the last of the prizes in four, passing a quarter of an apple to each. The fruit was in poor state of freshness, but it'd still taste good and provide some nourishment.

"Cheers," Chelsea said, and they ate their apple part together in silence.

"Do the second house too?" Anita asked.

"I dunno," Joel said, munching on his apple. "We still need to carry it all the way back."

"Yeah," Cindy said, "We might not be able to, straight away, but we can clear the place out and see what we can take, then stash that somewhere hidden so others can't come snatching it from under our noses. Like those damn leather sniffin' Coyote faggots."

"Chelsea?"

"Let's check the other 'ouse too," Chelsea decided. Cindy's point was good. The resources in what was left of the world were finite, and they'd have to secure as much as they could before others could take it for themselves. "I saw a big dustbin outside, we can stash things in there and then hide the bin."

"Word," Cindy said. "Then let's roll."

They went back out, stashing their new loot with the old spoils, and crept towards the other house, taking care not to agitate the zombies. Thankfully, most were gathered on the other end of the street, well enough away. One little group had camped out right at the front door, however.

"Round the back," Chelsea whispered.

"Careful when we go in," Cindy said, pointing at the house's front wall, right under the roof's gutter, where an aluminium box was conspicuously hung, a red LED blinking as hard as it could. "Alarm system."

"Can you disable it?" Joel asked.

She looked back at him. Chelsea couldn't see her face with the surgical mask, but there was a clear mischievous glint in her eyes. "Why would I be able to disable it? Because I'm 'urban'?"

"No," Joel said back, "I'm not from Florida, I don't say things like that. But because you're a _delinquent_."

"Point taken. But no. We'll have to – " Something caught her attention and she silently pointed to the house. Out the window protruded a rifle barrel, a man in camo clothes and sunglasses attached to it. His one hand let go of the rifle and made a shooing motion.

Chelsea showed the palms of her hands to make it clear she meant no harm. "Let's go, guys."

"We could try to talk to him?" Anita suggested. "He might be friendly. Might even be willing to join us back at the Shelter."

"Possibly," Joel said, "but we need to get close to him to talk without alerting the zombies. And somehow I don't think he'll let us approach."

"Don't think so either," Chelsea agreed. It wasn't a risk worth taking. Especially when the man raised the rifle's sights to his eye. "Let's go, come on."

The backed away, and as they did so, the rifle slowly came down again to rest on the windowsill. The man still kept watching them intently, his rifle ready, but they returned to the other house unharmed, took their loot and began the long walk back to Splendid High.

"We can take this dirt road back," Joel said, nudging his chin at a path leading into the foliage, barely wide enough for a car to drive through. "Through the woods. Probably less pile-ups an' zombies, an' at least we'll have some shade."

"Long detour?"

"Nope, not really. Just not much to see, but maybe that ain't such a bad thing."

"No. Maybe not."

They walked silently, and despite the welcome shade, they were all suffering the weight of their packs, Chelsea's shoulder whining as the strap of her sports bag pulled at it, and switching it to the other shoulder only displaced the ache. They'd have to find a better means of transport. But how? Even if they got their car repaired, they'd need fuel. Maybe Cindy knew how to siphon fuel from other cars. She probably did. Or Joel. Didn't coppers sometimes check a car's diesel to make sure they weren't driving with cheaper heating oil? Or was that just Europe?

"Hey guys… somethin's burnin' over there."

They looked to where Anita was pointing, a smoke column dead ahead. Probably only half a kilometre ahead, but they only noticed it now with the trees getting less dense.

"What do we do?" Joel asked. "Might be best if we turn back."

"Zombies don't usually cause fire," Cindy said. "So it's gotta be humans. Can be good news or bad."

Joel simply asked, "Chel?"

She felt the same way Cindy did. It could be anything. They'd agreed not to take unnecessary risks, but they also needed to stick their necks out every now and then. Perhaps someone needed help. Or it could just be a trap. "We uh, we sneak closer, but we don't confront. Might be a trap."

"Mm," Cindy merely responded.

"We'll get spotted if we approach from the road," Anita said. "Best hide in the foliage."

"Four people moving through the undergrowth will definitely make noise," Joel pointed out."

"Especially you," Cindy said. "I'll go take a closer look, I'm usually pretty quiet."

Joel couldn't resist snarking, "When you want to be. Which is rarely."

It was another time when Chelsea had to step up. "I'll come with. You guys stay with the bags."

Cindy nodded. "Let's go, Chel."

It was slow going through the trees and the undergrowth, but it gave them a chance to see what was going on, before what was going on saw them. If it was an ambush of twenty men with guns (supposing so many people were even still alive), then at least they wouldn't be shot apart until they actual _saw_ the twenty men with guns.

"You good, Chel?" Cindy asked from behind her surgical mask. Chelsea wondered why she still wore it.

"Fine, yeah. We're getting' close."

"Uh huh. Bet it's probably nuthin' though."

"We'll see."

They crept along the road, coming ever closer to the smoke plume. Chelsea saw a large blue shape, completely motionless, probably the thing that issued the smoke.

"It's a car," Cindy whispered. "Crashed car."

Chelsea saw it too, between the leaves, a vehicle that had skidded off the road and smacked into a tree, hood first. These dirt roads were dangerous if you drove too fast on them. The vehicle itself looked trashed, the hood crumpled to half its original length.

"Think they survived?" Cindy asked.

"Doesn't look like it, no," Chelsea muttered. They'd stopped creeping forward, and sat on their haunches behind a large toxic berry bush. "We should look closer, someone might need help."

"Yeah, if it's a trap, it's a risk we'll have to take."

They slowly inched forward, stopping at the tree line, still hidden. "They might also be dead," Chelsea said. It was almost certain that the occupants would be. There was no telling how long the vehicle had been there, and any survivors would have moved or called out already.

Chelsea made to move closer, but Cindy's hand grabbed her shirt and pulled her down. "Look! Over there."

A man sat on a fallen tree log, the front of his light blue shirt stained with blood. His sandy-haired head was lowered, his face hidden in his hands.

"He doesn't look dangerous," Chelsea whispered.

"No one looks dangerous until they stab you in the rectum."

"That's… true."

The man sitting on the log raised his head, his eyes in their direction.

"Shit," Cindy hissed. "Think he's seen us?"

The next moment, he called out, "Whoever's in those bushes, don't think I can't see you. You can either shoot me right now, grab a shovel and help, or get yourselves out of here."

"Definitely seen us," Chelsea said, sounding thoroughly stupid.

"He doesn't seem hostile. But…"

"Mm. Let's see if we can help him."

"Alright, but if he kills us, I'll be very upset with you."

They emerged from their hiding place, their hands visible to make it clear that they weren't looking for trouble. "Uh… hello?" Chelsea said carefully. "Do you… are you injured?"

He stood up, and despite the front of his shirt being crimson, he said, "No. Not injured. Let me say this. If you want to steal my stuff, better kill me right now, while you have the chance. Cause I'll show you no mercy if you give me the chance to defend myself."

"No, no," Chelsea said… "We don't have any stuff-stealin' in our agendas. We were just wonderin' if someone needed some help."

"The only help I need is a few hands to help me dig a grave." His look went to the car at the side of the road and Chelsea followed it. Now, seeing the car from the side, she noticed the body on the bonnet. It had been male at one point, but now it was just a vaguely recognizable human shape of blood and fabric. "I told him to wear his seat belt so many times. Dammit, Raph…"

"Aw geez," Cindy said. "Are you… sure he's dead? I mean – "

Chelsea already lowered her head in embarrassment at her stupid question, but thankfully, the man replied with an even-handed, "Yes. I checked, thoroughly. He was dead on impact."

"And you?" Chelsea asked. "You're sure you're not injured?"

He nodded. "Just a few bruises. I must've… fallen asleep while he was driving." He sat back down on the log. "And now he's dead. I need to bury him, but for the first time in my life, I just don't have the strength to do what needs to be done."

"We'll uh, we'll help, right Cindy?"

She half-shrugged. "Sure. I mean, it ain't like it's a hot day or anythin'."

The girl did have a knack for staying stupid things. "Just uh, go get the others, tell them it's safe. I'll stay here with…?"

"Paul," the man simply answered. Chelsea noticed he didn't speak with the typical Southern accent that was ingrained in Texans.

"Right. My name's Chelsea, and this foot-in-mouth is Cindy." She slapped the side of Cindy's leg with the back of her hand and whispered, "Take your mask off, you look like a burglar."

He didn't look up. "I'd say it's nice to meet you, but…"

"Yeh, can't imagine it is, right now. We 'aven't got shovels, but we can use, uh, branches or summat to dig too, right? I've got a crowbar, that'll help loosen the earth."

"Sure." He rose, his gaze still downcast. "We shouldn't leave him above ground, in the heat."

Cindy silently left to get the others, and Chelsea noticed the small pit he'd already dug a ways further, his bowie knife lying next to it. "That where you…?"

"Yeah. It's right at the treeline, he'll have some shade."

"Right." She took her crowbar off her back and started stabbing at the soil, turning it over as well as she could with the narrow head. The man joined her, silently getting to his knees and digging with his knife. Chelsea knew it was best just to dig in silence for now, he'd speak when it was time.

They dug for a bit, creating a larger hole, and after a few minutes, they were joined by Anita, who also silently shovelled loose earth out of the pit with her hands. Joel and Cindy kept their eyes on the road, making sure no people with bad intentions also came to investigate.

Only when the pit was about three-quarters its intended size, did the man with the bloody shirt say, "Thank you. For this, for helping. For not making me do this alone."

"Course, yeah," Chelsea said. "It's the decent thing to do. Will you, uh… be alright after this? Do you have somewhere to go?"

He stopped digging and sighed. "You know, I haven't even thought about that. Seems… unimportant right now."

"Well, where were you goin' in the first place?"

"Home, in Colorado. There was no reason for him to drive so fast. I told him, but…" he covered his eyes with his hands.

Chelsea let him have a moment. The others might not agree right away, but she felt like this guy was a decent sort, so she asked him, "Well, if you're looking for a place to stay, and some few friendly birds and blokes to talk to, we'll uh, you're welcome to join us at our Shelter? I mean, you seem like an alright sort, so…" She crossed eyes with Anita briefly, but saw no objection.

He wiped his tears away and returned to kneeling and digging. "Well, I must admit… You don't seem like looters or cannibals or people who torture small rodents, so… I don't know. I guess it's healthier for me to be around people, too. Let's finish this, give me a second to think about it, and I'll let you know, that alright?"

"Yeh, absolutely. There's no 'urry."

The rest of the pit was dug by the time evening rolled around. They could still be home before dark if they didn't dawdle. "Shall we uh, put him in?"

He nodded. Despite the swollen eyes and grief-wracked face, Chelsea noticed he was rather handsome. He'd probably look even better after he'd had some time to clean himself up and deal with the emotions. It was a bit of an inappropriate thing to notice, at this moment, but Chelsea didn't think it mattered much what was appropriate or not in these times.

They went to the crashed car's bonnet and looked at the body. "We'll have to, um... he seems pretty stuck. It might not be simple to uh, get 'im out without makin' things even worse."

The crash survivor shrugged and extended his hands, grabbing the dead man by the wrists and pulling. "He's dead," he grunted from the effort, "he doesn't feel it…" he jerked the corpse's wrists hard, "… anymore!", and with a tearing noise that was quiet but entirely too loud, the body came loose. The man's remains slid over the side of the bonnet and crumpled to the ground, the limbs at awkward angles due to the broken bones. "Raph's gone," Paul simply said. "This is only a body. It's not him anymore, I just don't want to do him the dishonour of leaving his remains out in the open. Don't worry, I'm fine."

"Alright. Let's um… put 'im to rest."

Chelsea had never touched a dead body before, and the prospect terrified her, but she knew she'd have to put on her big girl knickers and help.

"Zombies coming," Cindy whispered in Chelsea's ear, having suddenly appeared beside them. "It's only a few, we'll clean 'em up, but we can't stick around. So uh, if you're gonna ask him to come back with us so you can," she chuckled, "get to know him better, then best hurry."

Chelsea didn't pursue it, it wasn't like she was being flirty or showing any interest, but she did say, "Right, we'll get a move on." She extended her hand towards the dead man's bloody wrists, but then checked. "Ey um, your friend's got a um, 'e's wearin' a weddin' ring."

"Yes, and?"

What a strange question. "Well. I mean, shouldn't we return it to his wife or summat?"

The man smiled, probably the saddest smile Chelsea had ever seen. "No need." He held up his left hand, showing the same ring that was on the deceased man.

It took a second for Chelsea to process what she saw, but then she realized. "Oh! Right, I'm sorry, I didn't know… well."

He grinned, this time without sadness. "No need to be sorry, it's not something most people expect. But yes, Raph was my husband. It's best if he keeps the ring. It's his, after all."

"Sure, yeah, of course." With some surprise, Chelsea realized she felt a very faint tinge of disappointment. Maybe Cindy had been more perceptive than she'd thought. Then again, it was Cindy, so probably not. "Let's uh, get this done."

The man, Paul, took the body by the ankles while Chelsea got his wrists. From the corner of her eye, she saw Anita swing the sledgehammer and breaking a zombie's skull, while Joel and Cindy, acting in remarkable unison, brought a shambler to the ground and stomped its head flat.

"Probably more coming," Paul said, moving faster. "We need to make haste. And uh, if the offer's still open…"

"Absolutely."

"Then I'll happily accept your invitation."

Again, she was surprised by her own internal response to what he'd said. He was probably one of those people that others instantly took a liking to. Or perhaps she simply looked forward to having a man around who wasn't in a wheelchair or terrified of a mouse. It was a bit of a petty thought but what did it matter. "Great! I mean, we're always chuffed to see that other good people survived."

"Yeah, it's a relief for me too. What we fled from… well. When Raph's buried, I'll get my stuff from the car and we can go. You can introduce me to everyone on the way."

They'd reached the pit and lowered the body in. The weight hurt Chelsea's back, but she kept quiet. "Sure, yeah. Just so we're clear, you're a good guy, right?"

"Scout's honor." The body gently came to rest in the pit.

Closing the pit went faster than digging it, and after ten minutes, Raph's grave was covered again. "Give me a second?"

"Sure." She went to stand with the others, who'd managed to dispatch five zombies in total already. "They keep drippy-droppin' in, so it's easy," Joel said, "But they ain't gonna keep comin' in small numbers. That car crash prolly attracted a lot of 'em."

"I think so too," Anita agreed. "They move slowly, but they'll get here. They got nowhere else to go, after all."

"Sure, yeah. The uh, the guy's gonna take a minute an' then 'e's comin' with us. So looks our little Shelter's expandin', eh?" she added, not without pride.

"Sure he's good for it?" Joel only asked, in a tone that sounded completely unconfrontational. No second-guessing her, no insisting that they be consulted. That either meant he had a good feeling about this guy – not likely since they hadn't actually spoken thus far – or he was becoming a bit more accepting about Chelsea's role as decision-maker. It felt like an implicit vote of confidence, and that was good.

"Aye, 'e's a decent sort, far as I can tell."

Cindy chuckled. "Yeah. Decent."

She was being a bit childish, but that was okay. Telling her to grow up served no purpose, let her entertain her teenage desire for teasing. No point telling her that he wasn't likely at all to be interested in her, either. Might be nice to leave some room for potential feet in mouths.

"I'm ready," a voice came from behind her. Paul stood there with his backpack and a small trolley. "Looks like it's a good time to be ready, too." He looked over Chelsea's shoulder and when she looked back, she saw movement on the road behind them. Zombies, at least twenty of them.

"Shit, we need to go," Joel announced, his voice shaky. "Chelsea. No time for standin' around."

He was right, his unvalorous manner notwithstanding. "Yeh, come on, let's leave this place. Best continue through the trees, well enough away from the road. Wouldn't want to walk right into another group.

They did so, traversing the foliage along the road, staying close enough so they could see where it went but far enough not to draw any attention from the things they were trying to avoid.

"So, your shelter," their newest asset whispered to Chelsea as they slogged. "It far from here?"

"Na, just three or so kilometres."

"Alright."

"Wha'," she said with a chuckle. "Not goin' to ask 'ow much tha' is in miles?"

"Hey now," he said, grinning. "Just because I'm American, doesn't mean I can't use the metric system. We've been using it for years in the military."

Hey, what was that? The military? Was this guy a soldier? It made sense, in a way, because he did look the part, at least on some counts. He certainly was in shape (she'd noticed that right away, of course, she was only human), and he did bear himself with a certain strength and dignity, but on the other hand, he had a gentle face and his hair looked a bit more… 'civilian' than what she commonly imagined an American soldier to have. No buzzcut or stubble mohawk, just a neat back-and-sides. And wasn't there some kind of exclusionary policy with regards to homosexuals in the Army in America? Eh, she didn't remember. Better to just ask. "Oh, uh, you're in the Army, then eh?"

"Used to be, yes. Army Ranger, y'know, the guys who lead the way."

Well, that certainly wouldn't be useless. "Tha's amazin', I mean, we're all pretty shite at fightin' an' tactics an' tha', so it'd be nice to have someone knowledgeable for a change."

"Well, I'll try to impart what knowledge I have. You seem like you're sort of in charge here, semi-officially? I won't step on your toes, don't worry."

"Oh, alright. I 'aven't bollocksed it up yet, so I'm sure I can keep it goin' a while longer." She found herself more and more at ease in her semi-official leadership role, much to her own relief.

"I'm sure," he said. "You seem like a kind and caring person from what I've seen so far."

She felt an embarrassed smile form on her face and looked at the ground. "I think that if there was ever a good time to care as much about others as you can, this is probably it."

"Makes sense. So what's your shelter like?"

"It's a school, don't know if I mentioned tha' already? We've got basic needs pretty much covered, just don't expect luxury or owt. You'll need to sleep on beds made of chairs strapped together an' tha'."

He chuckled. "I've had worse, it's fine."

"I bet. You're probably 'appy if you can sleep without bombs gettin' dropped on your arse, innit?"

"Heh. Indeed." After a moment of silence, he asked, "So what brings you here? Texas isn't exactly your back yard, judging from your accent."

There was no way she was going to tell anyone why she'd really been on that plane, so she stuck to, "I was on 'oliday, with my friend, Tilly. She uh, dinnae survive the plane crash." Again, she tried to pull at the memory which shimmered at the edge of her mind, but she couldn't get hold of it, and it was gone again. Tilly was dead, it was certain, and she'd seen her die, but how? It wasn't during the crash, it was… after. Right after. What had happened?

"Sorry to hear that. It's easy to forget that I'm not the only one who's lost people due to… this."

"No need to be sorry, not your fault. Bu' yeah, flight was actually goin' to Houston, but it went down when people got infected. Passengers, y'know? One infected the other, then another." She sighed. "Only me an' a stewardess survived because the plane crashed 'fore they could get to us."

The man had a pensive look on his face. "That sounds… off."

"Wha'?"

"Oh, no," he quickly clarified. "I'm not doubting your story, I'm just wondering. If it was passengers that got infected, then how did the plane crash?"

It seemed obvious. "Well, they probably infected the pilots, an' then – " She cut herself off, realizing. The guy was right, it didn't make sense. "Shit, how'd they get into the cockpit?"

He nodded. "What I was thinking. Flight crew are under strict orders to keep the cockpit shut if violence breaks out in the cabin. I s'pose they could've broken the door down, but that'd require a coordinated effort. Not really the things zombies are known for."

She was stumped for a moment, but it slowly dawned on her. Exactly what had happened on the United Airlines flight. Why it had crashed. How the infected had gotten into the cockpit. "Fuck," she blew, slapping her forehead. "Tha's wha' she feels so soddin' guilty abou'."

"I'm assuming you're talking about the flight attendant who also survived the crash?"

"The same. She's been… I don't know, catatonic ever since the crash. Few words I got out of her were about it bein' 'all 'er fault' and tha'. I didn't get it, but now it makes sense. Yer a canny one." It shone pretty badly on her that he was able to put things together in one minute where she hadn't even managed in several days, but she decided to ignore that inconvenient fact for now. "I think I might be able to make some progress with 'er now. Cheers."

"That's alright. If you have more riddles, go ahead, anything to put my mind off what happened today."

The short moment of triumph she felt quickly sloughed away. "Yeh. I'll bet." Best to not let silences fall right now. "Come on, I'll introduce you to everyone, yeah? I'm sure they'll 'ave loads of questions, so by the time we're done natterin', we'll be at the Shelter."

The introductions were a pleasant moment despite the circumstances, and Paul seemed like a genuinely nice person, something which visibly made the others feel a bit better too. If one person like him still traipsed around in the outside world, there would be others too. Finding Cindy and him had been something they'd all needed, though some of them hadn't realized it. Cindy and Joel kept the bickering to a minimum, though some snide remarks did find their way to and fro. He didn't seem too bothered by their childishness though, and not just because he had other things on his mind. After a while, Joel started asking him questions about the Army, and they mostly conversed with each other, while Chelsea kept Anita and Cindy company. They talked about nothing and everything, just small talk and light conversation, pleasant but not significant. Stuff like the Internet, cars, men, allergies even at one point, food, shoes, all the things people chatted about when they didn't really have much to say.

When they walked up the hill to the Shelter, Chelsea did briefly test the waters with Paul as to where his preferences and talents lay. She figured, being a former Army Ranger, he'd be more inclined to join the scav team, but maybe he had a remarkable gift for car mechanics or feminist dance theory that he wished to cultivate. She knew better than to just assume where other people's strengths lay.

And yet, when she asked him the question, he reasoned exactly the way she hadn't presumed to. "Well, I'm guessing you can use someone on the away team, right? I'm not the sort to be fine with sitting at home while the others go out and risk their necks. I haven't said this explicitly yet, but I _am_ really grateful that you're letting me stay with you and giving me your trust. It's not an easy thing to do in times like these. If it ever was at all. So yeah, if you're alright with it, I think my place is out in the field."

"I uh, thought as much but I wasn't goin' to speak for you, d'you know wha' I mean like?"

"I do. I appreciate you asking rather than just assuming."

"Yeh, I mean, you probably have other talents than just soldierin', I assume?"

He chuckled. "Not that much, although I did use a lot of what I learned in the Army afterwards, made a living setting up cell towers. We were coming back from a job when, well… this."

"Ah. Ey, maybe Davis can use your help in our radio room, tho'?"

"Uh, sure. No idea who that is, but sure."

"There's two of us back at the Shelter," she explained as they crested the hill, the Shelter in front of them, illuminated by the red of the early evening sun. "Davis, 'e's a fireman, got crippled on the job, an' Renee, our doctor. Well, she's a vet, but I mean, it's the rules that you can never have a real doctor in a zombie apocalypse." She felt heat rise to her head. "I just realized I used the word 'crippled'. That's, um… I didn't mean… Y'know."

"It's alright," he said with a shrug. "It's just words. It's intentions that matter."

She still felt particularly stupid. She cleared her throat and said, "And then there's Elaine, she's still quiet but let's hope that changes soon. And a John Doe in the basement, currently in a coma, sleepin' the gentle sleep of ages."

"That seems quite a crew. Probably a diverse mix of abilities, too?"

Cindy chortled behind them when she heard it.

"Not really so far," Chelsea had to admit, leaving Cindy's uncouth response where it was. "We're all pretty much clueless, I'm 'fraid."

"No one's truly clueless, most people have more skills than they realize. Sometimes they just need to be put to the test first."

"Mm. So 'ere we are."

Renee was outside, waiting by the gate, a disapproving frown on her face, which she tried her hardest not to allow to dissipate by the relief of seeing her mother again.

"Eya Renee, we're back."

"You're late," she said. "I was worried something might have happened."

"Well summat did," Chelsea said, making sure to sound upbeat instead of answering Renee's worry-warting with impatience of her own. Coming home shouldn't be a cause for arguments, ever. "We've found a new sheltermate. This Paul, Paul, this is Renee, she's our highly valued medic, an' even though she worries a lot, she's glad we're back. Right?"

Renee looked as if a weight fell off her, and she smiled. "Yes. Yes, of course I'm glad. Sorry, I didn't mean to be fussy. I'm really, really happy to see you're all safe." Though she did add, "I don't know if I'll ever get used to it though, the waiting."

"Should come with us next time," Cindy found it necessary to suggest. Chelsea already knew where this would lead.

Instantly, Anita reacted with, "Oh no you don't. You're not going to encourage my little girl to risk her life out there. We've made an agreement, I'm going out there, she's stayin' here. That's how it's gonna be."

"Excuse me?" Renee protested. "I never made any agreement. You and Chelsea did, mom. I'm perfectly capable of holding my own out there."

"Hey uh," Joel attempted. "Maybe we should go inside and unload – "

"Renee, I'm your mother and I won't have any arguments," Anita snapped. "You're stayin' here where it's safe and that's that."

Chelsea didn't know what Cindy was trying to do, but she knew what the outcome would be when Cindy said nonchalantly, twirling a strand of gum around her finger, "Just cause you're her mom doesn't mean she can't make her own decisions."

Anita turned towards the younger, much smaller girl, death in her eyes. "Cindy, I strongly advise you not to butt in. This is family business. Besides, she's the only medic we've got."

Cindy shrugged. "Right. So we might need her out there in case we get hurt. Which is a lot more likely to happen out there than in here."

She had a point, and Chelsea thought that it was exactly that which set Anita off. "Now you listen here, you little delinquent. You just got here and you're already startin' trouble. You can tag along all you want, you can eat our damn food and sleep under our damn roof, but you are _not_ gonna make trouble between me an' my daughter, that clear?"

Cindy tried to look unimpressed, but she still took a step back and swallowed, barely noticeably. Her voice, too, wasn't _entirely_ steady when she replied, "I ain't makin' trouble, I'm statin' somethin' we all know. Even you."

Anita's upper lip curled back, slightly but noticeably, and she began breathing hard through her nose. "Girl, you've got about five seconds to shut your damn mouth before I shut it for you."

From Renee came an indignant, "Mom!"

This had gone on long enough. If she didn't intervene right now, not only would Cindy get her face smashed out through the back of her head, but there'd also be a massive shitstorm in the entire Shelter that would take days or weeks to quiet down. This was escalating, and she was the leader. It was her duty to prevent those things from happening. She had to speak up or she might as well sit in the corner and be useless.

"Hey, you two, stop," she said, trying to sound as final as she could when she got in between them. She could only hope Anita wouldn't turn her anger on her. Even though Chelsea doubted she was truly capable of hurting anyone – even Cindy, even after what she'd been saying – she still felt her stomach shrink into a ball. She heard her voice shake but there was nothing she could do about it. "Stop doing this. You're friends, remember? Neither of you want this to get out of hand." When Anita kept glaring at Cindy, Chelsea stuck her head in between them and looked Anita in the eyes. "Hey. Anita. We're friends, right?"

The tension went out of Anita somewhat, but the anger was still there. " Of course you and me are friends, Chel. But she and I won't be friends for long if this little troublemaker doesn't butt out of our family business."

"I'm just tryin' to tell you – " Cindy began, the fear in her voice now more apparent, but Chelsea held up her hand, asking her to stop talking. She'd have to if this wanted to have any chance of ending without bad blood.

"Easy, you both. I know what you're tryin'a do, Cindy, bu' this isn't the time, yeah?"

Renee, too, stepped in and laid a hand on her mother's arm. "Mom. Please. I've never seen you like this. I know you want me to be safe, but I want you to be safe too. I've put my worries aside, even though it was incredibly hard for me. Maybe you should too."

"This is non-negotiable," Anita held fast. "We agreed on this, Chelsea, right? You're who decides who does what. I said I'd risk my life so that my daughter wouldn't have to, and you agreed. You agreed." She took a few breaths to calm herself and again said, quietly, "You agreed."

"I did, Anita," Chelsea admitted, "An' believe me, I know how difficult this all must be for you. But even though I, uh, y'kno', assign people's jobs for the day, I can't forbid anyone from comin' along, if they want to."

"So what, you're changin' your mind?" Anita bit at her. "Reneging on our deal?"

"It was never a deal, Anita," Chelsea said, knowing the slightest misstep would cause everything to fall apart. It'd do irreparable damage to the small and fragile organism that was the Shelter. "You asked me to keep 'er safe and I said I'd do my best. But tha' doesn't mean I'm going to lock anyone up. If Renee wants to come, I can't tell 'er no. That's not the leadership I want to practice, y'kno'?"

Anita shook her head, keeping her eyes locked on Chelsea's. "I thought you were a decent sort, Chelsea. Thought you were the type to keep your word."

"Cindy, you an' Joel go inside and show Paul around, please."

Cindy began to object, "Chel, don't send me away, I'm not a child. I haven't done anything wr – "

"Cindy. Please. Just go."

Joel put a hand on the girl's shoulder. "C'mon, Cindy. Let's leave 'em to talk."

She scoffed, but eventually turned and went with Joel and Paul.

Chelsea turned back to Anita. "Anita, I am someone who keeps 'er word, bu' I only said I'd do my best, that doesn't mean I 'ave the right to imprison people, no' even to keep them safe. An' Anita, please. Listen to me."

Anita simply stood glaring, Renee gently caressing her arm.

"Renee's been worried sick about you too. But she's respected your desire to go out and stayed 'ere. This was incredibly 'ard for 'er. Cause if you think bein' out there's scary, I guarantee you that sittin' 'ere worryin' abou' someone you love more than anyone is probably even scarier than tha'. She's got no control 'ere. She just 'as to wait an' bite 'er nails 'til we return."

"At least she's safe," Anita grunted.

"Yeh, bu' she's sick with worry every day. You can be out there with us an' feel unconcerned because you know she's safe. She doesn't 'ave that luxury. She's 'ere, crawlin' up the walls from the stress."

Anita repeated, "at least she's safe."

"She's not," Chelsea insisted. "An' she's sufferin'." She had to be really careful saying this, but it had to be said, because it was the truth and Anita needed to see it. "Don't you think tha' subjectin' 'er to all this stress because you couldn't stand the worry is maybe a bit… selfish?"

"Selfish?" Anita blurted, shocked. "Yeah, Chelsea, sure, risking my life out there so my daughter is safe, that's selfish. I don't know if I did the right thing puttin' my trust in you if you're gonna say such stupid things."

"Mom," Renee said. "she's right. I don't deserve this. I don't deserve having to sit here every day and go crazy with worry. I've spent the last two hours crying, all alone. Crying because I thought maybe you wouldn't return this time." Tears came to stand in her eyes again. "Mom, I can't stand this anymore. Never knowing if you'll return or if Chelsea will come back without you and shake her head at me when she walks through the gate." She wiped her tears. "My stomach hurts all day, my head hurts, I don't sleep, I don't eat. Mom, please, let me go out tomorrow instead of you."

"No. No, Renee," Anita said, all her anger gone, replaced by her own sadness. "I can't. You can call me selfish if you like, and," she looked at Chelsea, "I guess I am," back to Renee, "but I won't let you go out there. There's just… too much that can happen. I can't… I couldn't stand…."

"Ey you guys," Chelsea said to them. "With Cindy an' Paul now 'ere, maybe we've got some more flexibility in our roster, yeah? So how 'bout," yet another thing she'd have to break carefully, but it might be the solution to their problems, "You both come along? Pretty sure Paul will be happy 'avin' a moment to recuperate, an' Joel, well, 'e wants nothin' more than to stay 'ere."

"I'm not going out with Cindy, hun," Anita said. "Not tomorrow. She stepped on my feelins way too hard, I ain't just gonna head out with her like everythin's alright. I can't just pretend nothin' happened."

Understandable. If a bit petty, after all Cindy had been telling the truth in her own clumsy way. "Alright, well, we'll see if Paul's up to it. Three people's not enough to be safe, we need at least four." Settling things between Anita and Cindy would have to wait.

Renee smiled a smile so sincere it was a joy for Chelsea to see. "That'd be great. I'll stay real close to you, mom, I won't do anything stupid, I promise. I just… I'd feel so much better having you close to me."

"Yeah, but…" Anita still struggled with the idea. "If somethin' happens… if we…"

"Then I'll be right there with you, for better or worse," Renee said, wrapping her arms around her mother and looking up to her with unconcealed daughter's love. "Besides, nothing can threaten us if we're together, right?"

Anita pulled her daughter against her, tears in her eyes. "You're right. And I'm sorry for makin' you worry so much. You're right, I was bein' selfish, but I just couldn't stand – "

"I know," Renee said. "I can't stand it either. Chelsea?"

"Yeh?"

"Maybe um, can we change the deal a bit?"

Chelsea had to smile when she said, "There wasn't any deal, r'member?"

Renee flapped her hand and said, "You know what I mean. That um, for the scavenging party, it's either both of us, or neither? I think that's best for us both."

That was acceptable, and it was in fact what Chelsea was going to suggest as a long-term solution herself. "Sure, yeah. That's absolutely fine, assuming of course that there's no, y'know, special circumstances. Like when we need someone taken care of at home, but we also really need a badarse truck driver with a sledgehammer to protect us out there."

"Sure, yeah," Renee could agree.

Anita, too, realized this was simply best for everyone. "I think I can live with that too. As long as splittin' us up is only when it's _really_ necessary."

"Tha's a deal I can make," Chelsea said. "We've got a bit more breathin' room now, so we can have an away team but also keep people at the Shelter to guard it an' do other stuff."

Anita abruptly threw her arm around Chelsea's shoulder, with so much exuberance that it made her briefly have to regain her balance. "I'm sorry about what I said, Chel. I was just, y'know, havin' a hard time comin' to terms with things."

"Tha's alright innit? I'm just glad you understand."

"I do, I do."

"Now uh, might wanna straighten things out with Cindy?"

Her face instantly hardened. "Yeah. Cindy. Don't know 'bout that just yet."

"Come on, she can gan fair wazzock at times bu' she's alreet."

"I have no idea what you just said."

"Don't matter. Come on, let's get inside."

They closed the gate behind them, making sure it was securely locked, and went inside. Joel and Cindy were probably showing their new addition to his room, because they were nowhere to be found, but Davis was there, a wide smile on his face. "I had a good feeling about you, and you've come through once again. Great job picking up a new member. I've had a short chat with him, he seems to be alright. Well done, Chelsea."

She made a short bow. "I'm 'ere to serve."

"Every evening we have more people for dinner, thanks to you!"

"Well, we got lucky, din't we? I mean, they just came along when we were out. Might not always be the case."

"No," he admitted, "and it probably won't be. But you're also bringing everyone home safe every evening, and that alone is a mighty achievement." With a grin, he added, "You really ought to bring a decent cook home pretty soon, though."

"Aye, I'm with yeh on tha', your cookin's proper shite."

"Which is why I'm asking. Still, someone's gotta do it." He wheeled himself towards the kitchen, calling out, "Get yourself some rest, Chel, you've more than earned it."

She couldn't disagree with that, but before she threw her backside down into a chair, she had a few small things she had to do. First things first, she went to the job board and updated it for the next day.

 _Chelsea Jayne - Scav_

 _Renee Cass – Scav_

 _Anita Cass - Scav_

 _Joel Oswalt – Guard duty (shelter)_

 _Elaine ? - Unavailable_

 _Davis Cray – Radio room / Maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen – Cleaning / Inventory_

 _Comatose bugger – being comatose_

 _Paul ? - Scav_

There. Cindy might be a bit upset about getting cleaning duty, but on the other hand, she could probably use a day of rest and relative safety after the hectic days she'd had as well. She hoped Paul would be ready to help with the scavenging, if not, well, she'd see. He didn't seem like the type to need time to sit on his backside.

Next, there was something else she needed to attend to.

"Eya Elaine?"

There was very little change in the girl's awareness of her surroundings, but it was there. Still, this was proceeding too slowly. If she had to come out of her isolation all alone, it would take weeks, if it even happened at all. The girl's mouth did move slightly when she heard her name. Her hands, clasped together, also shifted slightly.

"Got a minute?"

No answer. Of course.

"I just want to say… I know what happened. On the plane. You… you opened the door to the cockpit, didn't you?"

A loud sob went through her and her shoulders hitched. That must have been it.

"Elaine. The uh, the plane was doomed, yeah? You know tha'. It would've gone down no matter wha'."

Tears welled up in her eyes, falling onto the skirt of her stewardess uniform. The girl smelled horrible, which made sense. She hadn't changed clothes or showered in days. She stank of sweat and urine. Best not to think about that too much.

"The only difference, yeah, if the plane had gone down later, then I wouldn't be alive. You wouldn't be alive. The guy in the cellar wouldn't be alive. Elaine. You don't realize it, but you _saved_ our lives, yeah?"

"It's all my fault," she peeped.

"Elaine, sweetheart, please. I know you're traumatized. But it's just not true. We all would've been dead. With the crash, some of us at least had a chance."

She was obviously trying, but there was still something blocking her, as if she was sitting on a cauldron she didn't dare come off.

This was a gamble, but she had to try. She had to push on now, or she'd retreat back inside herself and it'd take even longer to get her back out.

"Elaine, love, listen to me. You need to make a choice, inside yourself. You can either sit here, keep peein' in your skirt, get finger-fed, an' stay closed off from the world until you die of dehydration or starvation. And then you've survived for no reason at all. You'd be just a pointless fuckin' life, thrown away. Or you can get up, 'ave a shower, rejoin the livin' an' try to make a difference, to do summat with the life you've been given. Because sittin' 'ere an' waitin' to die, tha's an insult to life, d'you know wha' I mean?"

The girl's breathing sped up, her jaw moved slightly, and her fingers strained against each other. It was do or die-time. Come on, Elaine.

"We're all so worried about you. I can't stand seein' you like this. There's still a world out there, Elaine. This isn't the end, yeah? You can still make things better out there an' in 'ere. But you need to break these fockin' chains that're holdin' you. You need to stop hatin' yourself an' start realizin' that this second chance is your opportunity to do summat good, to make sure tha' the people that died on tha' flight died for summat. Tha' you survived and did summat with your life. D'you really think you're doin' any of these dead people a service by sittin' 'ere an' waitin' to die yourself? They want you to live." Chelsea wrenched her own fingers in between Elaine's. " _I_ want you to live."

It was as if a dam broke, as if suddenly all the emotions that had built up over the days she'd been inside her shell came violently crashing out. The girl broke into a wailing fit, her eyes scrunched closed and her hands balled into fists, twisting Chelsea's fingers painfully. She rocked back and forth, tears running down her cheeks, then her eyes opened and she wailed at the ceiling, so hard it was as if her lungs were completely emptied and she could only refill them with hard, hitching wheezes. Footsteps came running up the stairs. Her lungs filled again, Elaine once more let out a heart-shredding wail, letting go of Chelsea's fingers and covering her face with her hands.

"I'm sorry!" she cried, again refilling her lungs with short, stifled gasps. "I'm so sorry!"

Chelsea carefully put her arm around the girl's shoulders, ignoring the rank smell that came from her, and held her against her. "Salright love. You didn't do owt wrong. Let it out, yeah?"

Renee's alarmed face appeared at the top of the stairs, but Chelsea quickly reassured her with a thumbs-up.

Elaine's fingers hooked into Chelsea's shirt and she cried into the side of her neck, hitching sobs that came with so much waterworks it got the shoulder of Chelsea's shirt soaked. It was alright. She needed it, and as unhygienic as this was, it was a far better alternative to finding her wish slashed wrists or with her head burst apart under an open window.

Renee stood at the stairs, observing from a distance in case she was needed, but not interfering.

"I'm sorry, Chelsea," she howled again, her voice muffled by Chelsea's neck. "I'm sorry, all of you. I tried, but I couldn't come out, it was, it was, it was, it was, like, like, like," she couldn't talk, being so out of breath from all the sobbing, "like I couldn't, couldn't, like I was, I was, para, para, paralyzed. I cuh, I cuh, I couldn't – "

"Shhh," Chelsea whispered, caressing her greasy hair. "It's alreet, yeah? I'm so fuckin' chuffed to hear your voice, you 'ave no idea."

She detached her face from Chelsea and looked up at her, her eyes completely red, but lucid and alive. "I want... I don't want to be like this anymore. I think… I think I'm ready to live now. Can you… can you… help me to the shower?"

"There's nowt I want more'n tha' right now. Come on, Renee, let's get this lovely lady squeaky-clean. Renee's our doctor, y'know tha', right?"

Renee came closer and they gently guided Elaine to the ground floor. When they'd reached the showers, Chelsea left her in Renee's care. Always best to have the minimum of people present, and better for it to be a medical professional. Of sorts.

She could be proud of herself. She allowed herself to be, because no matter which way it was turned, Chelsea had saved a life today. Elaine would've died if not for her. The others were either too busy or too wrapped up in their own needs and feelings to help her. And sure, now her shirt smelled sour and her shoulder was wet, but a life was saved, and there weren't all that many of those in this world anymore.

She needed a shower herself, now, with a hot day and Elaine conspiring to make her feel smelly. It was going to be a long summer, and a hot one too. It as Texas after all. Best wait until Elaine was out though, there were a lot of things that might help her feel better, but having even more people there when she was naked probably wasn't one. She'd never understood why some schools had these communal showers. Statistically, what was it? Four or five percent of women were lesbians. Chelsea didn't care what people did in their bedroom, but that didn't mean she had to be okay with a significant chance of being ogled by a lesbian every day. Though it would probably be paradise for said lesbian.

So before she headed to the shower, she went to the library with her bag of fresh clothes, got some completely uninteresting teenage gossip rag, and sat herself down to read outside the locker room. She spent about a quarter of an hour reading all sorts of nauseating tripe ("Bill Clinton STARES at Ariana Grande's Ass!", "Ivanka's Fashion BLUNDERS!", "Justin Bieber CAUGHT in hotel room with other man!"), before the door opened and Elaine came out, Renee still supporting her. She looked significantly better, even with her eyes still red and black, tired rings around them. Renee had even found a bathrobe to wrap her in. "Hey miss Chelsea."

"Oi," she laughed, "It's just Chelsea to yeh."

"Right, sorry. Thank you again. If it's alright, I'm going to try and sleep. I haven't slept in… so long."

"Yeh, sure, as long as you promise you won't just lie there an' fret, alreet?"

"Promised. I feel a lot better. I still have lots of stuff to process, but right now all I want is to sleep. _Really_ sleep."

"I can imagine. G'night, love."

Renee gave her a quick smile before she led Elaine back upstairs. Chelsea hoped she'd feel better in the morning. Probably would, sleep did wonders for just about everything.

Her turn. She left the gossip rag on the chair and headed for the shower, kicking off her clothes and just tossing them wherever. She wouldn't leave her sweaty clothes for the people who had chores tomorrow, but she didn't have to sort them right now. Shower first. Tyding up had to wait until after.

The shower was huge, at least twenty units, all arranged in a semi-circle of white tiles. Not much privacy. At least there was a wall blocking off the view of the communal shower from the hallway.

She turned the water valve and held her hand under the jet, waiting for it to warm. It didn't. A little longer. Still nothing.

"Shite," she hissed as she realized the boiler must have run out of oil or gas or whatever it used. It was earlier than she'd thought. Not having hot water would be a serious blow to morale. Survivable, sure, but it was all these little things going wrong that, when combined, created desperate or explosive conditions in a shelter.

The cold water on her hand made her skin slowly form goosebumps as she stood there in her bare ass, probably exaggerating a small inconvenience but being unable to stop doing so. Then just as she resigned to the thought of having a short, icy shower instead of the hot, relaxing one she was hoping for, the water turned warm.

The feeling of joy that came over her was indescribable.

Her eyes closed and her head lying back, she enjoyed the heat and the cleanness of the water, rinsing all the sweat and stink off her, taking it down into the drain, never to be seen again.

The sound of a door opening and closing made her open her eyes. "Who's tha'?" Fuck, this couldn't be any of the –

"Oh hey Chel, sorry, it's me, Cindy. Didn't know y'all were in here. Want me to come back?"

She breathed a sigh of relief. The girls' locker room really needed a bolt or a lock. The blokes here seemed trustworthy, but you never knew. "You're not gonna molest me or owt, are you?"

She heard a snort from behind the wall. "Ain't we full of ourselves."

"Please," she joked back, "You just might 'ave low standards. But sure, yeah, it's fine."

"Good, 'cause I can't stand another moment of this stink on me."

Cindy joined her in the shower, throwing her clothes every which way, same way Chelsea had done. With all the steam, she was nothing more than a coffee-and-cream coloured shape. That was, until she came to stand right next to Chelsea, taking the faucet just to the right. "You got any shower gel I can borrow?"

Oh right, that made sense. Having to throw a bottle all the way across the shower would be stupid. "Yeh, sure. It's mango smell though, hope you don't mind."

She made a face. "I'd rather not smell like a fruit salad but I'll take when I can get." Cindy turned the faucet, and when she felt the hot water on her head, her eyes rolled back and she groaned in pleasure. "Fuck me if this ain't the best feelin' on earth."

She had a point there.

'So hey, the Hell was all that wailin' about?" Cindy said, her speech distorted by the water she let crash into her mouth.

"Elaine. She's… gotten 'er head unstuck, I think. Managed to get her to speak. And to shower."

"Oh. She alright? I mean, that sounded pretty intense."

"Yeh, she's fine, got a lot of recoverin' to do, bu' I'm optimistic."

Cindy bopped her fist against Chelsea's bare shoulder. "Score one for Chel. Hey, by the way?"

"Mmm?"

"I do sumthin' wrong?" She squeezed some of Chelsea's shower gel into her hand and soaped herself up. "You don't think you can't depend on me or anythin', right?"

Chelsea had an idea of why the question was being asked. "No, Cindy, it's just... I thought you could use a bit of rest, you 'aven't had a day off yet. Pretty sure you've also got painful events to recover from an' achin' muscles to rest."

"Well yeah, I do, I s'pose, but you ain't tellin' me the whole truth, are you?"

Might as well tell it like it was. "Na, you're right. It's just… best if you leave Anita be for a bit, y'kno'?"

Chelsea somewhat expected Cindy to get all petulant, but her reaction was surprisingly understanding. "Oh. Yeah I reckon that might be best. Didn't realize her toes were that long when it came to her daughter. Shampoo?"

Chelsea passed it to her. "She's just scared of losin' 'er, yeah?"

"At least she still has someone to lose." Cindy's eyes were squeezed shut when she massaged the shampoo into her scalp, turning her hair into a white, foamy mess, the froth contrasting noticeably with her milk chocolate skin. "Unlike the rest of us.""

"I uh, made the same argument. She doesn't _hate_ you, she just… needs a moment away from you, tha's all. Wants things to cool off so she doesn't say anythin' hurtful tha' you don't deserve."

"Sure, whatever."

Chelsea caught herself sneaking a quick peek at Cindy while her eyes were closed, the same peek everyone sneaked at others in the shower out of an unconscious desire to compare oneself favourably but ending up only feeding one's own insecurities. It was no different in this case. Cindy's body was firm and toned, and although Chelsea wasn't in terrible shape herself, she did feel a sting of envy. No bit of lower belly softness, no barely-visible-but-still-present butt dimples.

Cindy rinsed off her hair with one hand, passing the shampoo back to Chelsea with the other. While the other girl continued rinsing, Chelsea rubbed shampoo on her purple mohawk, her eyes now closed. She hoped Cindy didn't do the exact same thing she'd done, but realized that was probably not the case since she had nothing to be insecure about.

"Shit, I feel loads better," Cindy announced, turning off the water. "Thanks for the gel and the shampoo, I'll pay you back somehow."

"Pft, it's all good." She said with her eyes still closed. "Everythin' we own is group property anyway, like we're a bunch of fuckin' communists, heh."

Cindy had towelled in record time and was already putting on fresh clothes. Chelsea turned off the water too, very reluctantly so, and got dried off as well. While Cindy brushed her hair in front of a steamy mirror, she asked, "Hey Chel, can I ask you something?"

Chelsea snapped on her underpants. "Yeh, sure?"

"Are you um, happy I'm here?"

The question surprised her somewhat. She knew when people asked a question like that, they were doing so for a reason, not to hear a quick affirmation, but because they had a legitimate reason to feel that the contrary might be the case. Such a question was not to be answered off-handedly. "Why do you ask? Because there was some tension between Anita an' you? Or is there summat else? D'you feel unwelcome?"

Cindy turned to her. "No, I don't mean 'you' as in, everyone. I mean 'you' as in," she pointed at Chelsea with her hairbrush, "you. You as a person."

She blinked at the forwardness of the question. "Have… 'ave I given you reason not to think so?"

Her answer came slowly and without much conviction. "Mmmno, but sometimes people say one thing and feel another way, y'know? Like they don't want to hurt your feelins or just want people to think everythin's fine when it's not?"

"Oh." Strange that she'd worry about that. Surely the need for wishy washy social conventions and sparing tender feelings had died with most of the world? "I don't… I 'aven't lied to you or anything. I do like you, Cindy, an' I'm happy you're 'ere. I don't know you very well yet, but sure, yeah, I like you. Even though you put your foot in your mouth sometimes."

She chuckled at that, but it wasn't humorous, not entirely. "Promise me sumthin'?"

Kicking her trousers on, Chelsea said, "Sure, yeah?"

"If you're ever upset with me, or angry at me, or think I'm not worth your friendship, come talk to me, alright? Don't just keep quiet and keep me in the dark."

"Uh, absolutely. It's a… bit of a strange thing to ask."

"I know. But I'm asking it. If I fuck up, just talk to me, don't complain about me behind my back or tell me everything's fine when it ain't."

This clearly had deeper roots, and Chelsea figured this might not be the best time to start digging for them, but it probably was important to her that she said, "Yeah, Cindy. I promise. If there's summat wrong, I'll summon yeh for an audience."

It seemed to satisfy her somewhat, because she smiled and said, "Thanks, Chel. I just… don't want to be the chick nobody likes and everyone knows but no one says, y'know?"

"Nobody wants to be tha' chick, Cindy. But promise, and so far, you're doin' just fine."

"Okay, thanks. Don't tell anyone I asked you this, alright? Bad for my image."

She held up two fingers. "Your dirty little secret's safe wi' me."

"I'm real glad I'm here too, by the way." As she said it, she threw her arms around Chelsea and held her tight. "Thanks, Chel. You're great. I mean it."

She had to laugh at that. "I'm just some chavette from up North, Cindy. This is goin' great 'cause all of us are puttin' in the effort. I just… listen to people an' say wha' I think. All of us are makin' this work. Together."

Cindy let go and gathered her stuff and dirty clothes. "Well, I'm happy I'm part of it. See you at dinner!"

"Yep."

Dinner, sadly, had long gone cold by the time Chelsea was done getting refreshed. The school had a microwave oven, so that at least was some consolation – as long as diesel for the generator held out. And it might be nice to eat dinner alone and in peace for a change. She liked her sheltermates very much, but being the coordinator of it all did mean having lots of people talking to you at once. It meant needing some peace and quiet from time to time.

It was still pleasant out, so she microwaved her plate of mystery stew and took it outside, sitting herself down on one of the school park benches with her eyes closed, and enjoying the sound of the birds tweeting. They didn't care about the threat of extinction the humans were suffering. Why should they.

There was no rush, no haste. She simply ate her dinner, taking her sweet time to let the pleasantness of the evening overwhelm her. Joel passed by at one point, making his rounds of the fence, but he didn't stop, just waved and smiled. She did the same in return. How many people were still alive out there? And how many of them would have good intentions? The people they'd met so far had been alright, even the damn Coyotes who'd stolen their stuff had been, if nothing else, pretty chill about it. They could have just as easily raped the women and then killed them all. But they'd simply taken their stuff and left them alone, even with Cindy's big mouth. Had she been worrying needlessly until now or had they simply gotten extremely lucky? She hoped for the former, but knew they had to prepare for the latter.

Her thoughts strayed to her parents, and she was somewhat put at ease, strangely, by the fact that she still worried about them. She loved them despite how difficult they'd made things. And Tilly's parents… maybe the day would come that she'd have to go tell them her daughter was dead. Her amazing friend, the best friend anyone could have, now charred amidst tonnes of twisted steel, torn fabric and molten plastic.

The crash hadn't killed her… but what had? Had she seen her alive after the crash or was that just her mind wildfiring and filling her head with false memories in a chaotic effort to make sense of it all? God why didn't she remember…

She had new friends now, at least. Good people, a chance to live. She had to be grateful for that. Tilly's stupid crash position might have saved her life. She'd never get to thank her, but she hoped wherever she was now, she knew that Chelsea loved her.

It was dark, all of a sudden. Had she slept? Probably. Just a short nap, but she did feel a bit groggy. The stew-smeared plate had slid off her lap and into the grass. She picked it up, went to put it in the kitchen with the rest of the dishes (more work for Cindy tomorrow, ha ha) and went up to sleep. Anita had been nice enough to bring the looted pillow up to her room, and the blanket as well. She didn't feel like changing into her jammies, she could sleep naked for now, it was a warm evening anyway. With her clothes stacked into a messy bundle beside her, she drew the blanket over her, laid her head on the pillow, and let sleep wash over her.


	5. Day 4 - Hard-fought Healing

**.**

* * *

 **DAY FOUR**

 **Hard-fought Healing**

* * *

"Morning, Chelsea," Davis greeted her when she came down. Several were already at the breakfast table, others were apparently either sleeping in, or had started their duties already. She suspected the former. "Sleep well?"

"Well as can be expected," she replied, pulling her seat back and sitting down. "Considerin' we're in a zombie apocalypse an' tha'. Mornin' all."

Greetings were muttered in return, some through full mouths. Chelsea didn't notice either Elaine or Paul at breakfast, but that was to be expected, they were still recovering, after all. Life hadn't been kind to them in these last few days. Anita, too, was absent.

"Hey Chelsea?" Cindy asked. "So um, Davis made some French toast this morning? I don't know if you're into that sort of thing? There's um, one more left, we saved it for you."

Renee chuckled and rolled her eyes. "I knew this was coming."

Davis stirred his oatmeal and remarked, "Our Cindy's nothin' if not subtle."

"Well that's nice of you," Chelsea said back, knowing full well what she was getting at.

"I was wonderin' though, if you're not a big fan then maybe, well…"

She smiled, "You can have mine, Cindy."

Cindy whooped and snatched up the last piece of eggy bread still on the platter.

"Those were the last of the eggs, though," Davis pointed out. "No more French toast until you find us some more, Chel." He drew a breath. "Speaking of findin' things…" His eyes went to Renee.

The young veterinarian had her mouth open to insert the last of her eggy bread, but she stalled and put it back down. "Right. Um, if you're not sure where to go today, there is one thing that's kinda urgent." She quickly added, "I mean, if that's alright with you."

"Sure, yeah, what is it?" She didn't like it when things were urgent, but she liked sticking her head in the sand far less.

"Well," she explained, "Our patient in the basement, remember? I'm probably the only one who hasn't forgotten about him," she chuckled, "but yeah, he needs antibiotics. He's running a high fever and I suspect an infection. Something which would have been banal in a functioning society with drugstores on every corner, but now… yeah."

"Wait," Joel asked, "you _do_ mean a regular infection, right? Not _the_ Infection?"

"No, no. I checked, it's of the good old garden variety."

Chelsea was fine with that. After all, the guy in the basement was dead weight now, and even if he wasn't, if his life needed to be saved, then they had to do it. "M-hm. I don't suppose you have any idea where to go?"

"Not as such," she had to admit. "Most will have been looted already, it's the first place people look."

"After gunshops," Joel pointed out.

"Yes. Sadly. But Cindy knows a place that might not be looted, it's pretty out of the way and it doesn't have these conspicuous pharmacy signs on it, because it's mostly a vet drugstore. It's to the Northwest, not very far."

"Mmph," Cindy piped up, her voice muffled by a mouthful of eggy bread. "Thuh Bruhdi Phurmuss."

"The Brady Pharmacy, yes," Renee translated, amused. "Maybe we could go there today? We might score some more medicine than just antibiotics too. We'll need every bit, I'm afraid. It should still be there, according to miss french toast."

Cindy nodded in confirmation, swallowing the eggy bread. "I used to steal Sudafed from there when I was short on cash. It's there alright."

Chelsea pretended she hadn't heard that. Best not to go into that. "Sure, yeah, we can 'ave a deek." It made sense. "Unless there's objections, we'll head there next?"

Naturally, no one did object. The only person in any place to object was the one who'd suggested it in the first place, but it was always a good idea to let people feel like they were being listened to. Not out of Machiavellianism, but simply because it was always a good idea to show people she wasn't some kind of autocrat.

"Miss Chelsea?"

She turned around to the source of the voice and saw Paul standing in the doorway, dressed and with an empty backpack in his hand. "Got a second? I'd like to talk to you about something, if that's alright?"

Chelsea finished her slice of bread and got up, "Sure, yeah, what d'you need?"

He waited for her to join him and said, "I'd like to just make a quick round of the Shelter, offer some advice on the things we need. You know, fortifications, security, things like that. I don't know if you've got time?"

Of course she did. None of them had much understanding of how to fortify a school, or what its weak points could be, and this guy was heaven sent when it came to that. And he seemed trustworthy, Chelsea liked to think she had a radar for that kind of thing. "Whey aye, I'd love to 'ave a walk with you." She added quickly, "to check the Shelter, of course. I'd love to hear what you think."

"Great. By the way, I know I'm new and all, and it might seem a little forward, but if I can ever help you with advice or ideas, let me know, alright? Managing this place is a daunting task, and the more people, the bigger the headaches. You've got a thankless job, and not everyone will realize that."

She half-shrugged. "I dunno, things are goin' ace so far."

He nodded as they walked to the central atrium. "So far. But when bad things start happening, well, people love to blame the leader." He seemed to realize he was being unnecessarily negative, and corrected himself. "I'm sorry, I don't mean to be all doom-and-gloom. You've survived so far, and that's nothing to sneeze at. And from what I can tell and what the others say about you, it's clear you're someone who's doing the right thing."

"I 'ope so."

He cleared his throat, hoping to put the awkward moment behind him. "So yeah, this place. You probably know good security consists of rings, right? Perimeters within perimeters. Where one fails, the others stop the threat."

She didn't know. It made perfect sense, but she just hadn't really thought about it. She wasn't eager to lose face with this soldier (and a handsome one at that), so she didn't come straight out and admit it, but on the other hand, pretending to know it all would only embarrass her more. She simply stuck to, "Well, just pretend I don't 'ave a clue an' start from the beginning."

The answer seemed to please him, and she gave herself a mental pat on the back. "Right, so, your first perimeter is the surrounding area. So far, not much we can do to secure that, but perhaps some kind of watchtower might be useful." They stood in the atrium now, between the two stairs leading to the first floor, and he swept his hands out around him. "Second perimeter is the fence. Now that _is_ something we can work with, plus it's going to be the most important means we'll have of keeping crawlers out. Might not work wonders against humans, but let's hope they stay away for now."

"Right, yeah, so how do we secure it?"

"Well," he explained, "this wire fence we've got now is nice for discouraging delinquents and petty thieves, but structurally, it's hopelessly unsound. If a group of people," he chuckled, "or things that weigh about as much as people, start exerting pressure on it, it'll most likely come down. So, an important order of business will be to reinforce it."

"What, like addin' spikes an' tha'?"

He cocked his head. "Normally, yeah, that'd definitely be something we should do, but the problem is, from what I've seen, these zombies don't feel much pain. The most important thing is that they can't be allowed to topple the perimeter. There's loads of wooden panels and other junk lying around. Turning the wire fence into a wooden wall, with diagonal support beams is going to do a lot. It'll block sight too, making it safer to turn lights on at night."

She hadn't thought about lights yet. He had a point, lights could be seen from crazy far. "Yeh, true, but we're going to need tools for that. Damn coyotes stole the lot when we found some."

"Coyotes? I didn't know they operated this far North."

Yeah, not that kind. "No, not the border-hoppin' human traffickers. Biker gang from 'round 'ere. One percenters."

"Oh," he scoffed. "Those. I never understood how you can be anti-authority and still wear your own version of a regimental uniform, but whatever floats their boat."

"So alright, reinforce the fence as soon as we can," she noted out loud. "I assume the next perimeter is the buildin'?"

He nodded. "The next, and also the last. Unless you're stationed in a fort, where you have places to systematically retreat to, then you can safely say that if the enemy makes it inside your camp, it's over. We'll need to reinforce the buildings, doors especially."

"Right. Board up the windows too?" Whew, she could actually say something useful in this conversation.

Except, "No, we better not. Not having daylight will cause all sorts of problems, like higher energy consumption, depression, accidents and even cabin fever. Plus, these things don't climb through windows, from what I've seen." So much for Chelsea sounding smart. "One thing we _can_ do is board up the doors, or even brick them up, unless they're absolutely necessary. Everything that doesn't have a panic bar on the inside should either be locked, nailed shut or bricked up." He looked up at the upper floors and the roof, visible through the stairwells.

"Uh huh."

"A panic room might also be a good idea, in case they _do_ get in, but for now, it's probably best if we focus on not letting them inside in the first place." He paused. "I'm not being too overbearing, am I?"

"No, no, of course not." He did make her feel like a clueless idiot but that was not his fault at all and totally her own. "I mean, you know much more about this than I do, an' I'm not the kind of person to shoot down good ideas just because they aren't my own, d'you know wha' I mean like?"

"Words worthy of a Grand Admiral," he laughed. "So yeah, that's really it for now. I think _the_ most important defence you can have right now is knowledge. Personally, I'd give priority to some kind of watchtower or some sort of lookout emplacement, preferably one that can also serve as a shooting platform."

"Right," she agreed. How could she not. "Watchtower goes to the top of the list for now. I'm sure there's materials we can use in these sheds. We ought to find some sundry stuff, like nails and bolts an' tha', but the raw buildin' materials are 'ere. I checked the garage an' the sheds an' there's a lot of decent-quality lumber. Boards an' planks. We just need tools an' nails. And um, someone who knows how to build a treehouse, heh."

"Mm, yeah," he said. "Of course, I've worked with cell towers for years, I know how they're constructed, so I might be able to help."

Was there anything this man couldn't do?

"Until we find someone better, of course," he quickly added. "Climbing towers and building them are two different things. But still. And I've noticed ummm, Davis was it?" Chelsea nodded. "… knows a thing or two about putting things together too."

"Sure, yeh, you can always, y'know. Put your heads together." She realized too late what she'd said. "I mean, your _heads-_ heads, not um. You know. It wasn't a homophobic remark or owt."

He laughed, still looking around the school building. "I hadn't even thought of the double meaning until you mentioned it."

She cleared her throat nervously and asked, "So uh, think you're up for it? Goin' outside? I can just take Anita an' Renee, if you need some time to get your thoughts in order, but yeh… I can also imagine wantin' to stay busy."

"And useful," he agreed. "No, I'll definitely come with you if you can use the help. You guys have taken me in when you could've just left me there by the roadside. I'm not going to let you go out there and face all these dangers alone. Plus, yeah, you're right, it'll be better if I keep busy."

"Right. We don't 'ave much in the way of weapons, but I can see what I can dig up for yeh?"

"I'm pretty much set, really. Your friend Anita was kind enough to lend me the baseball bat. And she mentioned a .357 you'd found?"

"Oh sure, yeah, you can 'ave it. Only four rounds left, but best that it's kept by the one bloke who actually knows 'ow to use it."

"It's in the storeroom? Cause I know where that is, I'll go get it if that's alright."

"Sure, yeah. No 'olster though."

"I'll take what I can get."

She watched him walk off and went upstairs to prepare her own things. They'd really need some protection if they wanted to have any long-term survivability out there. It had been mostly smooth sailing until now, but Chelsea knew – and so did everyone – that they wouldn't always be up against one or two shamblers at a time. And of course, they'd seen first-hand that there were still living people out there, too. Those wouldn't all be Cindys and Pauls. Or even jerks-with-some-semblance-of-a-heart like that one group of Coyotes. If that one sgt-at-arms hadn't been there, Chelsea had no doubt that those Coyotes would have shot them apart. She knew those gobshites well enough. But that had to remain her little secret. It wasn't like it mattered anymore anyway.

She stuffed a small bit of food into her sports bag and took the orange crowbar with her. The hammer would be less useless as a tool than as a weapon anyway, so she left it in the storage.

Renee and Anita already stood waiting when she opened the front doors, talking to Paul, who was explaining something, gesticulating at the fence and the surrounding area. Renee responded, pointing to the inside of the building, and Paul nodded, his face pensive.

"Eya loves," Chelsea said. "What're you discussin'?"

"Oh, just improvements we'd like to make," Renee said. "I'd like a decent infirmary, and Paul here was talking about watchtowers. We were wondering what we needed to get those things built."

"Watchtower would be easy enough," Anita contributed. "Just need some wood and rags. An infirmary," she clicked her tongue, "that's somethin' else. Need all kinds of medical equipment for that."

"Yeah," Renee said, sounding disappointed. "Although just a bed or two would already be a huge improvement. We can't really leave patients lying on the floor."

"We might raid a hospital or summat when we got the time?" Chelsea suggested. "Medication will probably be looted fairly quickly, but I doubt there'll be lots of people haulin' beds."

"That's one option," Paul said, "but we could also check refugee shelters. They've got handy folding beds. Not the same luxury as a full-fledged hospital bed, but we can carry them much more easily. Wasn't there one near Lampasas? I saw a sign put up when we were driving." He fell silent.

"Lampasas is a pretty long way on foot, I think," Anita said. "Might be best to search a bit closer to home at first."

"Yeah. Might be."

Chelsea figured they'd stood around talking long enough. "Right, we ready?"

Renee's smile said it all. It was the first time Chelsea had seen her actually looking carefree. They'd short-changed the girl in the first days. Because while everyone was worrying over the scavengers risking their lives, this poor thing had been caring about the wounded and gnawing her nails all alone. Davis seemed like the kind of person who could just be at ease in his belief that the scavengers would make it back alive, if they were careful, but Renee, she'd been sick with worry with no one asking her how she was doing.

After seeing the two happy faces of Anita and Renee, and Paul's confident nod, she could conclude nothing more than, "Then let's head out."

Having more sheltermates also meant that the shelter itself would be more populated, better defended, and less lonely. All good things. In turn, this also meant having to find more food, or growing it. She'd forgotten all about the pot planting book. Maybe someone had an idea how to build a garden, even if it was just for growing watercress. Or pot.

The other survivors (they'd earned the right to call themselves that) had come to the gate to wish them well and see them off. The blonde stewardess, Elaine, was among them. She was looking considerably better, and Chelsea felt her chest slightly swell with pride when she realized she'd probably saved the girl's life. Not every rescue had to be dramatic, spectacular or daring. The lives saved quietly, slowly, and through care rather than adrenaline counted just as much. If not more.

"Alright lads 'n' lasses," Chelsea called out to the shelter inhabitants left behind. "Don't burn the gaff doon when we're gone, yeah? An' Cindy, make sure those dishes 're done."

Cindy gave her a bothered look, but she knew it was all in good fun.

"An' rest up, too. You're comin' back out with us tomorrow."

"You bet I am," she said. "Without me, you'd probably get lost, or walk right into a zombie nest."

"We'll 'ave to suffer the danger this once. Joel, keep the perimeter safe?"

"You got it."

"Off we go, then."

Another day out scavenging. Despite the potential dangers out there, Chelsea figured she didn't have it that bad as designated scavenger. She could get out, walk in the sun, bond with people. As it was now, life in the Shelter was probably lonely. The school was a big place, and just four people (five if you counted comatose sleepy-head) was not a lot to keep the place even remotely populated. Lot of empty halls. At least out here, they were together. And to be honest, she'd developed rather a liking to her fellow survivors. They had their flaws, just like she had, probably, but all of them had the best intentions. She was confident she could count Paul among them, too. He had no reason to pretend or try anything untoward, and even if he did, she felt he wasn't the type. She knew most people overestimated their own empathic abilities, but it wouldn't be grossly deluded if she felt that hers were more than adequate to pick up on it when someone was being insincere.

"It's nice to be outside again," Renee pulled her from her thoughts, walking with her eyes closed, her face to the warm morning sun. "I know I probably won't do this with you guys very often, so best to cherish it while I can."

"Yeah," Chelsea agreed. "I'm secretly hopin' we'll never need you to stay at the Shelter to watch injured people, but we need to be realistic." She sighed. "Someone's gonna get 'urt sooner or later."

"Let's not think about that, though, huh?" Anita kept the mood from flagging. "If we're careful, and we stay alert, we'll make it back home."

Paul nodded. "Absolutely. This isn't a regular combat situation, obviously, but some of the rules still apply. And one of them is to not let what could happen bother you, but prepare for it instead."

"Oh yeah," Renee asked. "You were in the military, right? Army Ranger, mom told me?"

"Yes ma'am," he said, contained pride slightly visible on his face. "Was a good time, made a lot of friends for life, learned a lot of things. And not just how to kill people. Other stuff, too. Friendship, camaraderie. Teamwork." He gave Chelsea a meaningful look. "And how to respect leadership, if it deserves it."

"Oh. Well, Chelsea's doing great so far," Renee said with a bounce. "None of us had the sauce to step up, but she did, and we needed that. Without her, we'd probably be starving inside the Shelter."

Chelsea hoped she really meant what she said, and wasn't just trying to make her feel less insecure about Paul and his wide range of skills. But she realized even that wouldn't be all that bad either – at least it meant she cared enough.

"Yep," Paul appeared to agree. "People seem to be looking to you for guidance, Chelsea. It's a big responsibility."

"I can only do the best I can," she replied as neutrally as she could. "So come on, enough pilin' on the pressure, yeah? We got a pharmacy to loot."

Renee gave directions according to Cindy's instructions. The pharmacy turned out not to be all that far away, through a stretch of open field (there were no zombies, and even if there were, they'd have been easy to spot and avoid), across a paved road and through a pedestrian tunnel underneath a railroad. When they emerged, they saw a few houses, relatively untouched, with one of them sporting a modest pharmacy logo. Cindy had explained it well, and the fact that she knew how to approach places through the most concealed path was once again useful. Chelsea made a mental note to bring her along tomorrow, regardless of what Anita thought. They'd have to work it out.

"Four of them there, on the intersection," Paul pointed out. One of the zombies, a man in shorts and a wife beater, stood on broken legs, the others seemed relatively intact. Still, they were far enough from the pharmacy to be easily avoided, as long as they could get inside quietly.

"One more over there," Anita said, directing their attention to the side of the pharmacy, where a man in a white lab coat stood swaying from side to side next to a dumpster, a pad of subscription forms still in his hand. The front of the place, though, seemed accessible without obstacles.

"Alroight," Chelsea told the others. "We approach dead centre, creep to tha' lantern, an' then take a sharp right. Keeps us out of the path of the shamblers."

"Gosh," Renee breathed. "this is just like in the movies."

She noticed the three nonplussed faces looking back at her and quietly said, "… sorry."

"On your order, Chelsea," Paul declared.

"Right. Movin'."

They kept low as always, but the distance between the zombies and the pharmacy was sufficient for the shamblers not to pose a threat. Without incident, they reached the door to the pharmacy and Chelsea set her hand against it, pushing it open and clenching her teeth in hopes that the shopkeeper's bell wouldn't ring too loudly. Thankfully, it just made a modest beep-boop behind the counter.

"In we go, yeah?" she whispered, and added deed to word.

The pharmacy was relatively untouched, apart from some ransacked shelves. Clearly the people who'd looted the place hadn't had much carrying capacity, because lots of essential items still lay on the ground or on the shelves.

"Okay," Renee said, "We're looking for antibiotics primarily. But if we can find some other useful meds, that'd be great too. Look especially for painkillers, sedatives, uhhh, anti-infectives. Other stuff too, antidiarrheal and antiemetic drugs, disinfectant, bandages, maybe some tranquillizers too." She quickly added, "If that's alright, I mean, I'm not the one calling the shots, I know."

"Salright," Chelsea said back. "You're the expert. Alright, fan out then."

"I know one thing," Renee said, looking at the others, her face eager.

Chelsea obliged her. "I'm grabbin' pills."

While the others searched, Chelsea quickly bagged the few leftover boxes of aspirin, paracetamol, ibuprofen and antacids (the latter seemed nice to have around even if it wasn't crucial). She also slid some mercurochrome and hydrogen peroxide in her bag.

"Hey, this is nice," she heard Paul say. "Israeli bandages. Fancy finding those in a small pharmacy like this."

She searched on, stuffing menstrual pads and tampons in her bag as well. There were too many to take along, so she just stuck to the regular-sized ones. Any fat birds joining the Shelter would have to make do. She took a few packs of condoms as well. There might be sex in the near or far future, you never knew. She couldn't imagine her next weeks, months or years being free of the occasional horizontal tango.

"Got it," Renee called out. "Doxycyclene, cephalexin, and oh yes, ciprofloxacin. That's used to treat stuff like the plague, and apparently it's got the best track record against the countdown virus too."

"Wait," Paul asked, "I thought antibiotics didn't work against a virus?"

"They don't," Renee said, stuffing all three of the packets of ciprofloxacin in her bag. "Nothing does. But the antibiotics keep the secondary infections caused by the virus at bay, so they keep the infected from becoming a zombie. The virus itself is incurable, but as long as it can't cause secondary infections, it's more or less harmless on its own." She cleared her throat. "Or so I'm told."

"So if you're infected and die from something else, even if you did take your meds…?" Anita asked.

"… then you'll get back up with mush for brains," Renee answered. "Once you're infected, you're on the way to zombieville no matter how you die. Well, unless you explode into a million pieces or something."

"That's a bummer. I mean, not that you'd care much, being dead and all."

"Let's uh, try to avoid gettin' infected," Chelsea said. "Then we don't need to worry."

"Wise words," Paul said. "Hey miss Renee, can you use these?" he rattled a box of capsules.

"Hold on, I'll come see."

Chelsea kept scouring the racks, trying to discern between the useful stuff and the actual worthwhile items as much as she could. Cough syrup, anusol, zinc tablets, spray tan, nicotine gum, all useless. She did pack the blister patches and antifungal spray she saw in the next rack. Athlete's foot and blisters were a very real threat in this hot climate and in even hotter shoes.

"Hey what the fuck do you think you're doing?"

The door crashed open, far more loudly than it should have, and three people in hooded sweaters and dust masks came in, brandishing improvised weapons.

"Uh, what's it look like?" Chelsea said to them. "We're stockin' up on meds."

"No you're not," the looter in front snapped. His speech was clipped and galloping. "This is our turf, we've got a claim on this place."

"A claim?" Chelsea echoed. "Mate, we're 'ere to find meds, we've got as much right to them as you do. We're not botherin' you, an' we're not lookin' for a fight. Just let us take what we want and go, yeah?" She sensed Paul and Anita coming to stand on either side of her.

The leader slapped his leaden pipe into his palm. "You're gonna drop all that shit, and _then_ you can go."

There were only three of them, but Chelsea had a pretty good idea why they were really at a pharmacy. It wasn't for traditional healing meds, judging from the leader's hyper behaviour, and this could be a problem. These people tended to fight like lunatics. On the other hand, they weren't going to be threatened into handing over their stuff again. "Look 'ere mate, we're just pickin' up some medicine, we'll leave the stuff you're interested in alone. Now get out the way."

"Last _fucking_ warning! Drop the stuff and I won't carve a union jack in your gut." He clicked open his switchblade to reinforce his threat.

She shot a quick look to either side. Paul had his baseball in hand and nodded grimly. Anita also stood ready, her fingers flexing around the haft of her hammer. Renee, next to her mother, swallowed visibly, but her nervous face told her she'd fight if her friends did.

She hefted her crowbar and said, "Come an' get it, yeh piker."

With a roar, the looters launched themselves forward. Chelsea swung her crowbar, but the leader went under it, his stab missing her abdomen by a centimetre, but his bulk slammed into her, lifting her off her feet. She felt her ribs crunch as he came down on top of her, both crashing onto a medicine rack, which collapsed under their weight.

A hard blow struck her face, and her feeble swat did nothing to stop her attacked. He raised his switchblade, but before he could bring it down, Renee's knife sunk into his shoulder. With a shriek, he jerked to one side, his weight coming off Chelsea's bowels, the knife in Renee's hand coming free. Chelsea tried to get to her feet, but her head reeled from the blow, and she could only fumble as she saw the looter's knife flash at Renee, sending a spray of blood upwards as it hacked into her forearm. He tried to slash her again, but Chelsea was just in time to kick her foot out at his legs, sending him to one knee, the knife cutting air.

Renee tried to defend herself against the stab that came next, but she wasn't quick enough, and the switchblade went into her inner thigh all the way to the hilt. She screamed and fell. Chelsea kicked out again, but her sneaker glanced off his shin. When the looter stepped forward to finish Renee off, she was able to scramble to her feet again, and before he could stab her ailing friend in the face, Chelsea threw herself at him, body-slamming into his back. The looter whirled around and his fingers grabbed hold of her shirt as his knife clattered to the ground. They both spun out of balance, Chelsea hearing the seams of her shirt rip as they both went to the ground. From the corner of her eye, she saw Paul latched onto one looter from behind, his baseball bat strangling his opponent, and Anita smacked the haft of her hammer into the face of her attacker.

Then the world again shrunk to her and her adversary, the dust mask now ripped off his face, exposing his decaying teeth. One of his hands was clenched around her throat, the other felt around on the ground. Chelsea felt her windpipe crunch and her tongue being forced out of her mouth, and she pummelled the man's face as hard as she could, but her blows had no effect. The looter brought his free hand up, now clenching a big glass bottle. Chelsea desperately tried to claw at his arm, but he lifted the bottle over his head to bring it down on her forehead.

Two thunderclaps sounded, and warm liquid sprayed into her face. The looter dropped the glass bottle and fell over, a hole in his chest and one below his left eye.

Chelsea kicked his dying body off her and worked herself to her feet, hacking from the pain in her throat. "Th… thanks," she croaked at Paul. "If you hadn't…"

"No worries," he rapped, sliding the revolver back in his belt. At his feet lay one of the looters, her neck at an awkward angle and blood running from her mouth. Chelsea whipped her head around to see Anita's hammer swing low, catching the last looter in the knees and breaking his legs with a horrible crunch. Renee was down, desperately applying pressure to her bleeding thigh even as the blood running from her arm mixed with that pooling under her leg.

"Renee?" Anita shrieked. "Oh God Renee!"

"It's alright," she shouted back. "I just need to stop the bleeding! It's not arterial but I need to stop it!"

Paul kneeled by her, cutting off the leg of her jeans without any ceremony, pressing a strange kind of bandage onto it, one with a plastic handle sewn in. He whipped the bandage around her leg and clamped it with the plastic handle. "You're good to go, now come on, we need to get out of here."

"Oh god, Renee," Anita whimpered again, then she shouted at Chelsea, "You promised to keep her safe! You promised!"

"She'll live," Paul shouted back. "We don't have time for this now. Help me get her up, we've got to go!"

Chelsea ignored Anita's accusations, grabbing the bags as Paul and Anita helped Renee to her feet.

"Shit," Anita hissed, pulling Renee's arm over her shoulder. "They're coming!"

Through the window, Chelsea saw them too. At least forty of them, only twenty metres away, coming from the intersection and out of the surrounding houses. "Through the window, go!"

Anita and Paul hauled Renee through the broken window, avoiding the sharp ends of glass as carefully as they could, with Chelsea grabbing the last bag.

"Wait, please…" A voice came from the ground. The looter with broken legs was lying there, his hand up at her in a pleading gesture. "Don't leave me here for these things."

Shit. Shit, shit, shit. Chelsea looked out the window and saw the zombies closing in. Only ten metres now. She'd have to decide now. Leaving him would be safest, but nobody deserved to be left for the shamblers. Not even this guy.

" _Fuckin' 'ell!"_ she snarled, hoisting the looter up even as the bags weighed down her other shoulder. Only one of his knees was shattered, his other leg was still in decent condition. "Come on!"

She dragged him to the window and pushed him out, ignoring his cries as he fell to the ground, his legs catching on the knee-high wall. She leapt after him and pulled him back up. "Fuckin' work with me here, yeah?"

The guy probably did his best, but it wasn't good enough, so she dragged him forward, hearing his broken knee crack and snap as they moved. He caught himself with his good leg and began hopping along with her, just in time to avoid the rotting claw swiping at his back.

Chelsea ran as fast as he could, with the meth head's arm over her shoulder. Ahead, she saw Anita and Paul making good time, already ten metres ahead and gaining on them.

"Thuh… thank you…" the looter panted, out of breath but trying to keep up.

"Save your breath for runnin'!" Chelsea snapped at him, trying to eke out every last bit of strength from her screaming muscles as she could. Paul and Anita's path was blocked by a one-armed zombie, but Paul simply put his head down and smacked his shoulder into the thing's chest, knocking it to the ground. When the corpse tried to regain its footing, clumsily and through pure primitive brain impulses, Chelsea kicked it in the side of the head with her sneaker.

Her breath was burning in her throat now, and her muscles were on fire. She risked a look back and saw at least ten zombies sill giving chase, lurching after them with their rotting mouths open. They weren't gaining, but they were indefatigable and simply would not stop until they were either destroyed or their prey had left hearing range.

Chelsea grunted, her eyes screwed shut as she bit the pain in her legs and lungs. The weight of the wounded man was becoming unbearable, the bones in her shoulder felt as if they were ready to come apart. His hands were warm, sweaty and desperate, clinging to the skin of her belly and back through her torn shirt. She saw Anita looking back at her and shouting words at Paul. They'd reached the treeline near the underpass already.

Her sneakers caught behind each other and she stumbled, keeping her footing only through sheer luck as her muscles trembled with the effort, expending energy they no longer had.

She looked at the panicked face of the looter she was trying to save, and could only breathe, "I'm suh-suh-s…-sorry. I cuh… I cuh… I can't…"

"No, please," he grunted, his rotten teeth gritted against the pain. "Don't… don't leave me for these…"

Tears clouded her eyes when she said for the final time, "I'm sorry…"

Then her fingers let go of his clothing and he fell into the yellowing grass, screaming as his knee ligatures tore. Chelsea was propelled forward, stumbling again but keeping her feet, and without the weight of the wounded looter slowing her down, she closed in on her three friends, her muscles on fire from lactic acid buildup.

Behind her, she heard the growls and snarls of the zombies as they reached the fallen man. His screams turned to shrieks and merged with the howls of the creatures that tore him apart.

Paul and Anita descended down the slope to the underpass and Chelsea's legs gave out, sending her to the ground, landing softly in the grass. She didn't dare look back, so she crawled, her fingertips digging into the dirt and the bags of medicine dragging over the ground before she felt Anita's strong arms under her shoulders, lifting her up and dragging her the rest of the way.

Her sight still blurred from the tears, both of pain and for the loss of the man she'd tried to save, she too made it to the underpass, where Paul looked at Renee's wounds. Chelsea was ungently dumped on the ground and Anita's face appeared in front of her. "Are you hurt? Are you bit?" Immediately the trucker's eyes began scanning Chelsea's body for injuries. The cold of the shade in the underpass felt incredible.

"N… nuh… no," she breathed. "Just… just took a… took a few p… punches."

Anita curtly said, "Good," then went back to Renee. As Chelsea closed her eyes and tried to regain her breath, she heard Paul say, "She'll live, but those are some serious wounds. The arm's pretty nasty but it'll recover if it doesn't get infected. The leg… I don't know. Can you feel your leg? Move it?"

"I… I don't know," she heard Renee peep.

"Try, go on."

"Just a… just a little. There's… I don't think there's nerve damage."

"Right," Paul's voice came. "That's something at least. What's your medical opinion?"

"I… think I'll be alright if I have time to recover. Blood loss isn't life-threatening, I just hope there's no nerves hit. My arm just hurts but I can move it just fine. Just muscle damage. The leg… I don't know." A short pause. "I think it missed the artery by a hair."

"I think so too. You're a lucky lady."

Anita blubbed something incoherent.

"It's okay, mom. I wanted this. I knew what the risks were. And hey, I'll survive, right?"

Chelsea heard a sniffing sound as Anita dried her tears. When her voice came again, it was clearly directed at Chelsea. "My daughter is _not_ going out there again. Is that clear?"

Through her burning throat, Chelsea could only say, "… Tha's up to 'er."

"Chelsea, I am _telling_ you right now – "

"Mom," she heard Renee's voice. "I'm alive. I'll need to recover anyway so the whole discussion isn't worth having. Please don't take it out on her."

Still unable to even muster the strength to open her eyes, Chelsea heard Anita's panting slowing down and then a quiet, "You're right. Sorry, Chel."

Chelsea managed to make the monumental effort of flapping her hand.

As she sat there, her back against the concrete of the underpass, she realized the air on her skin was making itself felt in places it shouldn't. She looked down at herself and saw her t-shirt torn on one side, from under her arm all the way down to her waist. Ah well. It was just a shirt, and she wasn't wearing her bra with the pink butterflies today, just a regular black one that was no cause for embarrassment. She opened her eyes and saw Renee sitting a ways further, giving her a weak smile. Half of her jeans had been turned into bloody hotpants. It would seem clothing had been the biggest victim among the Shelter inhabitants that day.

Renee feebly stuck up a thumb at Chelsea. "We got our meds."

"Tha' we did."

Paul came to sit by her, his eyes soft and worried. "How are you feeling, hun?"

"I'm alright. I just… I couldn't leave 'im there, y'kno'?" her eyes clouded again. "Tha' was a 'uman bein'. No one deserved…" she trailed off as the tears came.

"You tried, Chel. You tried your hardest, even harder, to save the life of someone who wanted to kill you." She felt his hand on her shoulder. "I can't begin to say how much respect I just gained for you. How much I admire what you did."

Without thinking or worrying how it might look, she leaned forward and put his arms around him, laying her head on his shoulder. She felt his arms coming around her waist and pressing her against him. Neither of them spoke, neither of them had to. She felt his cheek against the shaved skin on the side of her head and let her tears soak into his polo shirt. In other circumstances, she might have held him for other reasons, but now, just feeling someone's warmth against her was the only thing that could stop her from breaking into an unending crying fit.

Even though she didn't want to, not ever, she slowly let go of him and he said, "I'm lucky to have ended up in a shelter led by someone like you. I had a good feeling about you, and I was even more right than I thought." He wiped the tears from her cheeks with the backs of his fingers. "You ready to go home?"

She managed a short, tearful laugh. "I think so. Soz for bein' such a bawlin' bairn."

"I have no idea what you just said, but there's nothing to be sorry for. Nothing at all."

She still felt horribly embarrassed. "Let's go 'ome. We'll get there a bit earlier but I don't give a toss."

"No, I don't think anyone'll mind. Take a few more minutes to rest, first. We'll take turns supporting Renee."

"Aye, I will. You feelin' alright?"

He made a so-so face. "I am, considering I just strangled someone with a baseball bat and then shot someone else. It never gets easy, killing people." He looked away. "I hope it never will."

Renee wasn't very capable of walking, but she bore her pain and reduced mobility in silence, taking the trip back, first supported by her mother, with Chelsea and Paul arranged to take over at some point. As it was now, Chelsea walked with Paul, a few paces behind the mother-daughter duo. Renee's jeans leg was cut so high Chelsea could occasionally see white Minnie Mouse panties peeking out from under the frayed, bloody denim. She had to chuckle when she realized she wasn't the only one who still owned some girly undies.

She talked with Paul about his past, his time in the Army, and finally decided to have the indecency to ask why he'd left. Turned out he'd been 'persuaded to leave' after his sexuality had been disclosed to the Army high-ups by some soldiers he had beef with. The U.S. Army still held its don't-ask-don't-tell policy, and so they'd quietly settled with their Ranger to let him go with an Honourable Discharge. It seemed like a shitty policy. Paul, of course, heartily agreed.

Then she told him about her past, her life back in England. How all the things that had seemed so important back then had turned out to be completely insignificant and stupid. How she'd missed out on so many good things by just not noticing them when they'd been there, only now, when they were gone. Told him about Tilly. Tilly and her brown ponytail and her dumb 'I'm sorry, I was born stupid' badge on her school uniform. Tilly who'd once vowed to her that anytime she needed a roof, a meal, or a bed, she simply had to pick up the phone. Tilly who'd made good on that promise numerous times.

They were around halfway when Anita asked someone to take over. Paul offered, but Chelsea asked if it was okay if she did it. Despite knowing rationally that she had no fault in Renee's injuries, she still felt responsible.

When Renee's arm went over her shoulder, though, the first thing she said was, "Sorry about my mom. It's not your fault. At all."

"I still feel a bit responsible," Chelsea said. It was the truth. "You're all dependin' on me to not steer you wrong an' tha'."

"But you didn't. This happened, there was no way to prevent it, other than giving them our medicine." Fiercely, she added, "And to Helsinki with that."

"I swear, those gobshites were stiff on meth. Fuckin' bastard 'ad a knife in 'is shoulder an' 'e still kept on gannin' radgie."

"Uh… yeah. You saved my bacon there, Chelsea."

Chelsea laughed. "An' you saved mine. If you 'and't stuck tha' knife into 'im, 'e would've caved in my skull."

Renee raised her free hand, her fingers balled into a fist. Chelsea obliged and bumped hers against it.

"Not too much pain?"

Renee blew. "The physical pain's fine, it's just… I'm so angry I got injured on my first day like an idiot." She chuckled. "You must think I'm pathetic."

Chelsea laughed with her. "Course not. They were fuckin' crackers."

They'd already reached the road to the school, now they just had to follow that up a gentle hill, for about a kilometre. It was afternoon, and they probably could've gotten away with scavenging a little longer, but everybody needed rest after this, even those that hadn't been injured.

"You're gonna need a fresh shirt," Renee pointed out. "And me a new pair of jeans."

"Price I'm willin' to pay for all of us to get back alive. So hey, 'ow'd you and your mum end up at Splendid? I mean, you were in Uni, right?"

"M-hm," she said, hobbling along with Chelsea. "I was studying in Baton Rouge, my final year. Louisiana State University of Veterinary School, don't know if you've heard of it… uh, no, guess not. Um, my mom had just picked me up and we were heading back home, in Taos, when the shenanigans hit the fan. Roads were blocked, fights broke out in the roads, so we knew we wouldn't make it home. Thankfully, mom's short-wave picked up Davis' frequency and he helped us get to Splendid High. We made it there, runnin' on fumes. The truck finally stalled a few kilometres from the school, we had to hoof it the rest of the way there."

"You're lucky it wasn't some predator on the wireless tryin' to lure in women."

She chuckled. "The apocalypse wasn't full-on yet. No return-to-barbarism happenstances or anything. We didn't really know what exactly was going on. It was probably around the time you boarded your plane."

"… Yeah."

"Sorry. Didn't mean to remind you of… well."

"Oh no, that's fine. 's on my mind constantly anyway." It was. Even when she was focused and concentrating on other things, the memories of the plane crash were always there, somewhere in the back of her head. The air marshal's baton clacking, the kid in his seat getting shot through the head, the blood of the fat woman, red on Elaine's golden name tag, the feeling of weightlessness as the plane's nose fell. It was all alive and real in her head. It would take a while for the trauma to become manageable, but at least she had new friends to focus on. "Don't worry 'boot me, I'm alreet."

"I hope so," Renee said, grunting as her weight came down uncomfortably on her injured leg. "I'm not very good with psychology, I'm afraid. I'm just a stupid vet." She said it with a smile, but Chelsea knew she wasn't joking, not entirely. Being 'just a vet 'made her feel inadequate, and all the 'closest thing we've got'-comments didn't help much either.

Even though her words were at a risk of being seen as platitudes, Chelsea still said, "Renee, you're doin' amazin'. Without you, there's no tellin' where we'd be. You took care of me when I was dead to the world. And you'll take care of us all a lot more in the future."

"Hmph. Fat lot of good I am, getting shanked on the first day I go out."

"Well, at least you got to show off your thighs."

"Bloody and swollen, wrapped in dirty bandages," she laughed.

Chelsea laughed with her. "Pain not too bad?"

"Manageable. Maybe Davis will let me borrow his wheelchair for a bit."

"Yeh, 'bout time 'e shared, the lazy bum."

Joel had noticed them approaching and stood at the gate, squinting against the late afternoon sun. He was joined by Cindy a few minutes later, during their approach. They both walked out to meet them, now close enough to notice one of the scavengers was injured. As Joel and Cindy (especially Joel) came closer, Chelsea quickly stuffed the hem of her torn shirt in her track pants so there wouldn't be too much belly skin exposed.

"Aw Hell," Joel exclaimed. "Renee, you alright?"

"Fine," she grunted, "Just a pebble in my shoe."

"Nice legs, girl," Cindy chirped with a bounce. Not sure if the one-legged pants fashion will catch on, though."

"Fuck off, idiot," Renee said with a grin. "Help me inside instead of making lame jokes."

"C'mere white girl." She stuck her shoulders under Renee's other arm, and together with Chelsea, guided the injured vet to the seats in the atrium, laying her down there.

"You gon' be alreet?"

Renee lay on her back, her hand over her eyes. "Yeah, I'm fine. Just need to lie down for a bit."

"I'll take her place, if that's alright."

Chelsea turned around and saw Elaine standing behind her, her hands folded in front of her, and while her head still hung lower than it should, she looked lots better already.

"Outside, I mean. Got something to make up for."

"Uh, sure," Chelsea replied, "If you're up for it."

"Like I said, got something to make up for. I'll come outside with you tomorrow, if you'll have me."

Cindy draped a blanket over Renee and said, "Means Anita'll have to stay in, too. So you'll either have to take me or Joel along." Her eyes narrowed, "And don't you dare tell me you'd choose Joel over me."

"I wouldn't dare. Alreet, Elaine, then it'll be Cindy, Paul, you an' me. I'll update the job board this evenin'."

She smiled weakly, "Please. I'd like to no longer be listed as 'uncooperative'. And I'll work for it too."

"You better," Cindy quipped. "Ain't gonna let you laze around just 'cause you're blonde and smokin'."

"I wouldn't expect you to."

After making sure Renee had everything she needed, which essentially meant her mother, Chelsea took a seat in the refectory, popping a can of blueberry soda (crazy Americans and their mental fizzy drink flavours) while Cindy told her about the events of the day. Elaine simply sat listening. Cindy explained about how she'd cleaned the entire ground floor and the showers, reported on Joel's movements – apparently, he took his patrol job seriously – and talked about Davis actually receiving a radio station. Just one guy in a remote, lonely studio, but knowing there were people still alive and kicking was a good feeling every time it happened. The warm feeling faded somewhat when Cindy said the radio host had complained about a lack of women and chafed palms.

Overall, the day in the Shelter had been quiet and productive. It was good to know. When she was done talking, she went to see Davis. He felt a bit like her second-in-command, her major-domo of sorts. Although it was a bit unfair to think of him that way. He probably could've easily taken her role if he wanted. People looked to him for guidance as much as they did to her. He was a sort of caring-dad figure. And Chelsea harboured no illusions, she was only the de facto leader because he allowed her to be. Most people respected the man's judgment, and his lack of ambition for leadership didn't mean nobody would defer to him if he put his foot down. Proverbially in his case. It was a good thing their goals aligned, because Chelsea couldn't imagine having to go up against an evil version of Davis. She was glad they saw eye-to-eye on how to run the Shelter. This way he was a strong supporter rather than an opponent.

When she entered the radio room, Davis slowly turned his wheelchair to face her, his fingertips against each other, like a caricature movie villain. "Ah, Chelsea Jayne. We meet again at last. What brings you to my evil fortress?"

"My nefarious nemesis," she went along. "Doomlord Davis, tearing up the asphalt, ploughing through women and children with his fiery wheels."

"Speak, lest ye be turned into a ghastly ornament on my death mobile."

"I uh, just came to check on yeh, realleh," she dropped the routine. "See if you've 'eard owt?"

He shook his head. "Sorry, not much useful on the radio. Except this one broadcasting DJ person Cindy told you about. He's pretty obnoxious but I like listening to him. Gives me hope that people are still alive. Good people."

"Yeh. We'd 'ave trouble repopulatin' the earth if it's just this 'andful of people."

He chuckled. "Yes, well. Another thing we might have trouble with soon, is the water supply. The pumping stations won't last forever, sooner or later they'll die on us. When that happens, we have no means of getting water to our little shelter."

"You're uh, not gonna suggest we start haulin' bottled watter, are yeh?"

"No, no. I think we've got a solution pretty close by. The school used to have a functioning well. Right now it's not usable, probably because it's all clogged with mud and debris. If we get that out, renew the pulleys and stuff, we ought to be able to create our own water supply."

That would be a fun job. "Any idea who you'd want to send doon there to haul out the clarts?"

"No. I mean, I can oversee the work, if that's okay with you, but well," he pointed at his wheelchair, "I obviously can't do much of the actual labor. Apparently Paul has some engineering knowledge? I think he or Anita would be the best candidates."

"Paul's comin' oot with us tomorrow. Renee's stayin' in, so I'm leavin' Anita here too, as per our agreement. Any idea 'ow long it'll take?"

"Just a day, I'd wager. I know, we should also maintain and reinforce the fence, but…"

"Na, you're right, it'd be proper gaumless to wait for the plumbin' to fail. I'll leave Anita with yeh to work on the well. Tha' should be enough, right?"

"Yes," he said, "Thanks Chelsea."

"I'll put it on the job board right away."

She did as she'd said, uncapping the whiteboard marker, and with the cap in her mouth, she wrote:

 _Chelsea Jayne - Scav_

 _Renee Cass – Rest!_

 _Anita Cass - Well_

 _Joel Oswalt - Patrol_

 _Elaine Martin - Scav_

 _Davis Cray – Well_

 _Cindy Bransen – Scav_

 _Paul Rainier - Scav_

 _Comatose bugger – being comatose_

Just as she put the marker back, Cindy's voice called out, "Hey y'all, dinner time."

Oh, that was right. Cindy had made dinner. If her rather dismissive attitude towards homemaker work could be seen as an indicator, Cindy's cooking would be… interesting. Chelsea hoped she'd just stuck to warming up tins and sploshing them onto platters, because after today, she wasn't feeling up to the challenge of eating botched cooking. Although she'd probably even eat dirt with how clamming she was.

Thankfully, Cindy had done just as Chelsea had hoped, apologizing only briefly for the lack of effort. Chelsea was fine with it, better that than inedible sludge. Dinner was a tantalizing selection of tinned meatballs in tomato sauce, tinned potatoes, tinned green beans and carrots, tinned salmon and tinned corn. Why not. Chelsea helped herself to a portion of meatballs and green beans and carrots. It was a horrid combination, but then again, with what Cindy had chosen, a good combination just wasn't possible.

Dinner talk was mostly small talk, the residents chatting about this and that, Paul telling an army story, Cindy expecting the others to give their estimates as to how many people were still alive out there, Anita doting over Renee, and Davis and Elaine mostly listening quietly. Joel was still patrolling the perimeter, but Anita had already volunteered to bring him a plate afterwards. This did make Chelsea wonder if perhaps appointing a night watchman might be a good idea. They were grossly understaffed for now, but maybe if more people came, they could provide themselves with the luxury of a guard at night too.

She wondered what it was out there at night. The same? Or would stranger, more dangerous things emerge from their holes? Best if she never found out. Best if no one ever did. Getting back home before dark was a rule she intended to stick by.

"So Chelsea, how do you think we're doing?"

The voice pulled her from her thoughts. "Mm, wha'?"

"How do you think we're doing?" Anita repeated. "Are our prospects good? Do we have hopes of surviving?"

"Uh, well," she bumbled, surprised by the question, "Uh, see for yourself I s'pose? We're 'ere, 'avin' a nice dinner together. If that doesn't make you hopeful…?"

Anita looked at the meatball skewered on her fork, thinking. "Mm. Guess so. What if there's no one else out there, though? No more people, at least no people wanting a safe society anymore?"

"There's got to be," Chelsea answered, fully believing that herself. "I mean, not to belittle us 'ere, bu' we're pretty much duffers when it comes to survivin' the apocalypse, an' we're doin' alreet. So tha' means the military – " Cindy snorted. "The _military_ ," Chelsea repeated, "or other government agencies must've survived. 'Ell, we might get rescued today or tomorrow. We're only makin' long-term plans to be on the safe side. Bu' I'm convinced the military'll roll in any day an' get us to a safe place."

Davis' eyes told her different. He would know, he was on the radio constantly and he must've picked up chatter. It was clear that he hadn't. Still, it'd be completely demoralizing to actually share that knowledge with the Shelter. Chelsea knew it, and he clearly knew it too. He'd doubtless want to speak with her later to make sure she understood.

"We'll see," Anita only said. "What's that about the well? Saw the job board."

"Oh, yeah," Chelsea explained. "Davis f… Davis an' I figured we shouldn't wait until the water distribution fails. There's a well on the school grounds. Davis knows 'ow to get it back to workin' order, for the most part," she looked at Davis, who nodded, "bu' he just needs someone to do the legw… uh, the manual labour." Awh, shit.

Davis, thankfully, chuckled. "Almost had an embarrassing slip of the tongue there. But yes, Anita, if you wouldn't mind helping me. Most of it should just be a matter of hauling up all the um… what was your word for it, Chelsea?"

She grinned. "The clarts."

"Those, yes."

Anita shrugged. "Sure, if you think it's necessary."

"Mom," Renee said in a gentle scolding tone. "Cheer up, okay? We're doing pretty great, all things considered."

She sighed. "Yeah. I know."

As much as Chelsea had understanding for Anita's motherly love, it was becoming a bit grating at this point. She wasn't the only one who felt that way, she noticed, when she saw Cindy's eyes roll. Even Paul had a hint of a disapproving frown. It was a good thing they'd both be confined to the Shelter tomorrow, because even though Chelsea loved them both to bits, Anita and Renee's mother-daughter routine was a lot to handle at times, especially since the only thing they really achieved was to show others what they no longer had.

"Alreet, I'm gannin' fer a wesh. Might as well take advantage of the water while it lasts."

"Same," Cindy said. "Someone else can do the dishes."

With a smile, Elaine said, "I'll take care of those. Give a little something back."

Before hitting the shower though, Chelsea permitted herself some alone time between herself and the porcelain throne. She'd always found it a nice place for thinking. Well, that was, if the netty was clean and no one was around. As she sat on the bowl with her trousers down, she let her mind wander. And as always, it wandered to Tilly. The memories of the crash were still vague, scattered and unreliable, but she knew for a fact that Tilly hadn't died in the crash. At least not immediately. Chelsea had seen her alive after that. But then what had happened…? For a moment, heat flared up inside her as the irrational fear struck her that she might have killed her best friend, but as soon as the feeling came, she knew that wasn't true. No, Tilly had died of something else. Gah, the memory was so close, and yet she couldn't snatch it.

She gave up and let her mind wander on, past the one thing she wanted to know but dreaded to remember. She'd have to change her shirt after the shower. This whole walking with her bare side exposed had gone on far too long. The thoughts of torn clothes led to Renee. They'd gotten off easy. If that knife had stabbed her a few millimetres to the side, she would've died of an arterial bleeding. No way they could've stopped that. She could only imagine Anita's incredible rage if that had happened. She tried not to think of that, being ripped in two by a murderous mama bear. She chuckled at her own imagination running wild. Of course Anita wouldn't butcher her, no matter what, but there would still be consequences. Her eternal hate, for one thing. Maybe it was best not to take either of them out in the field anymore. If someone else died, well, as terrible as that would be, at least they wouldn't have loved ones out for Chelsea's blood.

She finished her business and went for spare clothes, then made her way to the shower. Cindy was already done, sitting on the benches in her underpants. "Oh hey, thought you'd be here quicker."

"Na, I 'ad to, um… call of nature."

"Oh, right." Cindy stood up, her boobs making a short bounce, and hooked her bra behind her back. "So how was the day an' all?"

Chelsea managed a weary smile. "Tiring. My muscles are all sore. We got into a scrape with three radgie meth junks. They were proper up a height. Renee an' me got close to dyin'. We both saved each other's arses an' Paul then saved mine too."

"Wow," Cindy replied, her eyes wide. "We almost lost you, geez. Oh my, your throat, there's like, bruises and stuff?"

"I'm fine, though."

A strange expression came over Cindy's face. "Good thing Paul was there, I guess."

Chelsea pulled down her track trousers and kicked off her socks. "Summat wrong?"

"Mm? Oh, no, no. Just… I'm feelin' a bit guilty that I sat here while y'all were in danger."

Somehow, Chelsea wasn't convinced that was the whole truth, but she realized that might just be her imagining things. "Well, you'll be there tomorrow, yeh? An' don't feel bad, there'll be plenty of chances for yeh to put your bum on th' line, innit?"

"I guess. I hope not too often, though, or we'll burn through shirts pretty quickly."

"Heh, yeh, there was a fair bit of pushin' an' pullin'."

"Don't um… no, nevermind."

Usually when people started a sentence and then said 'nevermind', they wanted you to ask further, so Chelsea obliged her. "What were you gannin' t' say, pet?"

She pulled her mouth to the side, shifting on her legs. "No, just…" With a sigh, she said, "I don't know how um, reliable the guys here are. I mean, they're still guys, right? When they see a bit too much skin, they might… get ideas, and I don't think that's um… entirely safe?"

She couldn't resist goading Cindy even though she knew she had to. With a slight leer, she asked her, "Well what if I want 'em to get ideas?"

Cindy's face became startled, then indignant. "Well, I suppose if you want to get accosted by a horny guy in a dark hallway, then fine, go ahead."

"I'm teasin' yeh, Cindy," Chelsea quickly said. She'd taken that way less lightly than Chelsea had thought she would. "Come on, I'm jokin'. Turnin' the guys' cranks is the least of my worries right now. Besides, I don't think any of 'em would… y'know."

"You never know," Cindy said curtly, throwing her shirt on. "That's the problem with guys."

She had a semblance of a point, but even though predators were often good at hiding their true nature, it still didn't warrant a wholesale mistrust of all things manly. After all, the guys she'd known in her life had always treated her with friendliness and respect, and all her sexual encounters had been entirely consensual. "Well, I can take care of myself, Cindy," she said, trying to keep it diplomatic. "But thanks for your concern, I mean it."

Cindy turned away and began brushing her jet black hair in the mirror. "I'm just lookin' out for someone I consider a friend." The tone was not without reproach.

"I know, love, an' I appreciate it." Chelsea knew damn well that this wasn't a case of 'just looking out for a friend'. Something was behind this, and she had an idea what. She could just leave it alone, but that was probably a bad idea, even though asking her about it might very well lead to disaster as well. Carefully, she asked Cindy, "Ey um… is there summat you want to talk about?"

Cindy continued brushing her hair. "Like what?"

Oh man, this was eggshells. "Well… 'as anythin' um, y'kno'… happened to you? Summat you could use a friendly ear with?"

Cindy whirled around, a nonplussed frown on her face. "What do you mean, 'has anythin' ever happened'?"

"Well…"

"Like, was I ever raped? That what you mean?" her voice wasn't angry, but she clearly demanded a straight answer.

"Yeh, that's um… wha' I mean. I'm askin' because I want to be 'ere for you if you need me."

Cindy snorted a brief laugh and went back to brushing her hair. "No, Chelsea, I was never raped or violated. That don't mean I don't know the dangers."

"Alright, fair enough." Though she had to ask, "Would you tell me if you were, though?"

Cindy stuffed her hairbrush back in her bag and tied her hair back. "Honestly? No. I'd probably lie about it."

"But then – "

Cindy opened the door but before she left, she smiled at Chelsea and said, "It takes a long time for me to trust someone, that's all, it ain't personal, I think you're great. Look, don't read anythin' into what I said, I was just tryin' to be careful but I ended up lookin' stupid an' paranoid. I don't even know why I brought it up. Everythin's fine, I'm just tryin' to get my head in order an' then I say dumb shit."

"You sure?"

"Absolutely. Enjoy your shower, I'm going to go have a coffee in the refectory. You can always come join me when you're done?"

"I will, although usin' the word 'coffee' for the brown grit with water we've got 'ere is a bit fanciful."

She enjoyed a hot shower, towelled and put on her underwear, shirt and socks. When she wanted to step into her trousers, there was a knock on the door.

"Uh, if you're not a bloke, come on in."

The door opened and Elaine's head popped in. "Oh, sorry, Chelsea, I didn't know you weren't dressed."

Chelsea could only snort and roll her eyes at that. "Elaine, fuck's sake, I'm just not wearin' any trousers. Besides, I'm Eurotrash, yeah? We're not prudes like you Yanks. Long as you're not a lezzer, it's alreet. It's a shower. You've got to take yer claes off to use it."

"I… guess. Mind if I get ready while you're getting dressed? Or do you want me to come back in a few minutes?"

"Course not."

As Chelsea stepped into her trousers and hitched them on, she asked, "So. How're you feelin'?"

"Lots better, thanks," Elaine said, draping her towel over the shower's tiled wall. "I've still got a long way to go and a lot of bad emotions to deal with, but I'll manage. I actually want to live now, and that's a great feeling."

"I'm proper chuffed for yeh. An' if you need owt, just come an' talk to me, or anyone else, yeah? We're 'ere for each other."

"Thanks, you showed me that already, more than I can say."

"Well, Imma gan 'ave a coffee with Cindy. Can always join us when you're done."

She took off her flight attendant uniform jacket and hung it on a peg, somewhat slowly. Chelsea could guess why. Not everyone was comfortable taking their clothes off, even if it was just among women. "I might, or catch an early night, I don't know. Thanks though. Again. For everything."

"Na worries. No more thankin' from now on, I'm just glad you're feelin' better. 'Ave a good shower."

Cindy was, indeed, at the refectory, along with Paul and even Joel. He was probably on a break – he had a good right to be – and from the way the three were talking, she could tell Joel and Cindy were actually trying to put their differences aside. It felt slightly forced, but they were doing the effort. Chelsea permitted herself to think it was because she'd told them to. Or no, because she'd _convinced_ them to. She had no intention of being an autocratic leader, rather one who led by charisma and reason. And example, of course. She felt slightly embarrassed at herself thinking she had charisma. Anyone who'd heard her say that out loud probably would've laughed.

Still, the conversation over brown grit with water was relaxing, and even Renee joined at one point, wincing as she sat down and moved in her chair. The conversation, and the evening, ended with all involved agreeing that they should scavenge a CD-player somewhere to play some music, no matter what kind. After all, music soothed even the savage beast. It was something to watch out for when they were out. Music became the final topic of the discussion, with Paul explaining his love for blues and rock, Renee saying she wasn't impartial to light R&B, Cindy saying it was okay if it was a bit harder as far as she was concerned, her liking for hard rock and metal both surprising and yet at the same time, not at all. Joel said he was fine with 'just what was on the radio'. Chelsea kept her preference for nineties dance and house music mostly to herself, to avoid personal embarrassment. Elaine stopped by briefly to say hi, and when she announced her retirement to her bedchambers, the others took it as a cue to leave as well.

Her muscles still proper hortin' and so weshed oot that her eees were fallin' closed, Chelsea let sleep take her, falling off the world, happy to know that all of her new friends would still be there the next day.


	6. Day 5 - Coffee Break

**.**

* * *

 **DAY FIVE**

 **Coffee Break**

* * *

Chelsea was awoken by a knock on the door. That was the first thing she was aware of. The second thing were the muscles in her legs and back, sore beyond words. Fuckin' 'ell, what had she done yesterday that… but then she remembered. The meth head she'd tried to save. He hadn't made it despite her extreme efforts. Sore muscles was all she had to show for her heroism. Her hamstrings especially hurt so much she wondered if she'd be able to get out of bed.

Another knock. Ugh, right, someone wanted to talk to her. "Whosit?"

"Hey um, Chelsea?" She recognized the voice immediately. "It's Joel."

"Just a sec." She wasn't facing him in her jimjams, but she wouldn't have time to get changed either, so she just threw her rough woollen green blanket around her and opened the door, squinting at the light falling in.

Joel stood there, hunched over with his hand on his abdomen and a face that looked like he'd just drunk a two-litre bottle of fish oil.

"Eya Joel."

"Uh yeah… hey," he rasped, as if he was two minutes away from dying.

"… yeah?"

"I was uh, I was wonderin', if um," he winced at a sudden spike of pain or discomfort or nausea or whatever it was and laboured on, "if I couldn't get a day off today. Bowel cramps, you see. Diarrhoea."

Ugh, she should've known there'd be requests for sick days. But this wasn't a corporation, there was no union, and people not pulling their weight wouldn't just lead to a few missed financial targets. She could very well understand that some people might not be physically capable of working, like Renee right now, but a few bouts of the shits really couldn't be a reason to duck work. Then again, she wouldn't score points if she just offered him a heartless 'suck it up'. She'd have to find the middle ground. "I understand, Joel," his face lit up, "bu' we need you, yeah? If no one does the rounds, this place might get overrun with zombies while we're away. Diarrhoea usually doesn't last a whole day, so maybe pop a few Imodium and go see Renee, an' only make your rounds at half frequency before noon?"

"I don't know, Chel," he whined, hunching over even more. "I don't want to have to um… you know, be confronted with a sudden um… need when I'm out on patrol."

She shrugged. "Then just shit behind a tree, yeah? Civilization's collapsed, no one's gonna give a toss about some bloke shittin' in the woods."

"I, I, I don't know, Chelsea. I mean, you know what a bitch diarrhoea is."

"Not as much of a bitch as it would be more to come back 'ere an' see nuthin' but zombies an' corpses, Joel. Work through this, yeah? I know you can."

He whined again, but had no real argument to bring forward. "Nnnnalright, I'll go see Renee, ask for some Imodium."

"There's a good lad. Thanks, Joel."

"Just don't expect me to be at full strength today."

"No 'salreet, just do your best to keep an eye out."

He walked off. Chelsea had to keep herself from sighing and rolling her eyes. Having the shits was a problem, sure, but it wasn't an arterial bleeding or a broken spine. He'd have to make do.

She went downstairs for breakfast and found the table empty, although it was set, and some plates were sprinkled with crumbs. She had a quick meal of rice crackers with cheese in a tube (Cheese! In a god damn tube!) in solitude, then checked with Davis, who reported nothing unusual on the radio, but who did offer a good possible place for scavenging. Apparently there was a supermarket, or at least a slightly oversized grocery store, nearby, called the Mason Supermarket, south of Splendid along Route 87. It was a bit of a trip on foot, but there was bound to be some things still left there. After all, not even an army of looters could empty out a whole supermarket. At least, Chelsea hoped not.

There was another idea she'd had when she'd lain in bed last night. A means of transportation far more interesting than feet and far less resource-intensive and loud as a car. She'd share her idea with the others on the way. Paul stuck his head in the kitchen as Chelsea was clearing her dishes and asked her how she was.

"Muscles are right hortin', but I'll be alreet. You?"

"Doing well, all things considered. The two others are gearing up and once you're ready, we're good to go." With that, he disappeared again.

She better make haste too. Anita was doubtless fussing over Renee, and Joel was nowhere to be seen, so no point chewing the fat with any of them. She met up with Paul, Cindy and Elaine, and they took off. Cindy knew where the supermarket was, or at least whereabouts, so they followed her lead, hooking onto Route 87 and following it south to the off-ramp where it was located. The county highway itself was a mass of pile-ups and traffic jams, but there was very little danger apart from the risk of a sprained ankle while climbing wrecks. There were, however, loads of infected on the sides of the highways, having shuffled there for want of another direction to go in, unable to climb cars like living people could, so breaking into the cars was not an option, no matter how tempting the possible prizes within were. Occasionally they saw corpses which were the regular kind of dead, results of car accidents or road rage in the panic following the infection. Not a single one of the four scavengers managed to not look away at the sight of a burned-out coach bus with charred arms still hanging out the shattered windows.

"So uh, Chelsea, you said you had an idea for transportation?" Elaine asked, snapping Chelsea out of her absent automaton-mode.

"Ha? Uh, yeh, I did. Y'kno', we've been natterin' aboot cars an' supermarket trolleys, yeah? Bu' we've forgotten a much better way to get 'round."

"Don't keep us in suspense," Cindy mocked. "I'm on burnin' coals here."

"Shu' up," she grinned. "Alreet so, cars are noisy, yeah? Burn fuel an' tha'? An' they're shite to manoeuver through all these bunged-up roads?"

Paul slowly said, "Yeeeees?"

"Ohmygod," Cindy breathed, "You've found us a tank!"

"Tch, no, Cindy. Although I wish I 'ad now… Anyway, my idea costs nowt an' it'd make us travel lots farther. An' we'll be able to navigate these pile-ups."

Elaine laughed. "Come on, Chelsea, share it already."

"We twoc some bicycles."

A silence fell.

"… shit yeah," Cindy said. "That ain't half bad."

"I agree," Paul nodded. "Bicycles are a great alternative."

"Why didn't we think of that before, y'all?" Cindy slapped her forehead.

"Iunno," Chelsea said, "Bu' it's like you lot were all so fixated on cars. As if you thought it was cars or nowt. Like summat was preventin' you of thinkin' of alternatives, innit?"

"Yeah. That's kinda how it was."

Elaine chuckled. "I'm glad I swapped out my skirt for pants."

"Aw, we'd 'ave gotten yeh a posh old ladies' bicycle, divvent worry."

"You'd do that for me? Well, gee."

"An' I was thinkin', maybe this supermarket's got some bicycles."

Cindy snorted laughter. "Supermarkets? Sellin' bicycles? Here in fucking Splendid? Don't bet on it. We'll be lucky if we find a picture of a bicycle in any of these places."

"You're going to suggest breaking into people's homes, aren't you?" Elaine suggested. "I mean, I know we need stuff, and the dead, well…"

"They don't need them anymore." Paul finished her sentence. "They'd want us to survive, I like to think."

"… yeah. I guess, but it feels… wrong."

"Elaine, hun," Cindy said, walking backwards with her arms spread at the road. "All them people are dead an' gone. They don't care, an' even if they did, it ain't their business to mind. We're alive an' they ain't. We've been doin' this for a few days now, an' we've gone past that. Don't worry, the feelin' 'll go away."

"Probably, but right now it just feels…"

"I kno'," Chelsea told her. "But we need to be practical, yeah? We need people's stuff to survive, an' everythin' we take is summat that doesn't go to these fucking Coyotes or whoever else the fuck is out there killin' people."

Paul nodded. "One of the first things you're taught when you're in the military is to use whatever you can find. Dead people can't use anything anymore, but we can. I'd never condone stealing from innocent living people, but apart from that, we need to do whatever we can to survive."

"I know what you're saying is right. I mean, rationally. I just need to let the idea sink in, I guess."

"The world's for the livin', blondie. An' that's us. We owe it to ourselves an' to the world to stay alive."

That was a bit dramatic, but Chelsea didn't contradict her, she just added, "We're the good guys, Elaine. It might feel strange, but we are."

"I know. I don't doubt that for a second."

"Hey y'all," Cindy interrupted, "We gotta take the exit here."

The off-ramp, just as much the host of a massive traffic jam as the rest of the road was, led them southeast. From here, things would be more dangerous again, with infected everywhere, shufflers they'd need to sneak around. Ugh. Chelsea hoped it wouldn't be like that every day, avoiding dead guys under a blazing sun. As much as she liked her sheltermates, she didn't know how long she could tolerate this shite.

They advanced carefully, making sure to avoid infected and pass a good distance behind them if they could. Only a few were inevitable, but Paul dispatched two of those with a surprise blow to the skull, while Chelsea herself, not to be outdone, split the third's head with a carefully aimed whack of her pig's foot. There had been some brain matter stuck to the head of the crowbar, but it was better than having the creature's teeth inside her own brain matter.

When they reached the Mason supermarket however, things promised to be less straightforward. A few infected stood in the parking lot, in such positions that it'd be impossible to blindside one of them without alerting at least one other. Bound to be a problem.

"You seein' this?" Chelsea asked Paul as they observed the situation from behind the corner of a collapsed house.

"Mm. Five or six. Got all their angles covered without even realizing. We can't take 'em down one by one. If we want to get inside that supermarket, we need to go through the front doors. Back's guaranteed to be wired."

"I think I could sneak past, though?" Cindy whispered.

Both Paul and Chelsea immediately replied, "No, you couldn't." After they both stalled from the surprise, Paul continued, "There's no route you can take that won't get you spotted by at least one."

Cindy harrumphed. "So what do we do then?"

Paul looked at Chelsea, clearly waiting for her to decide, out of deference to her leadership, but also to hear what her plan would be, and if it would be any good. "I'm uh, I'm thinkin' if we hit hard an' fast, we can take 'em down one at a time 'fore the others reach us."

She hoped that was a semi-decent idea.

Thankfully, Paul nodded. "What I think too. We hit them head-on, smack 'em upside the head, make sure the first one's dead before the second reaches us."

"Sure, yeah," Cindy said.

Elaine held her 2x4 tightly. "I'll… do what it takes, don't worry."

"I know, pet," Chelsea said, "but don't take unnecessary risks, yeah? We've got some experience with these blighters, know 'ow they move an' tha'. Best stick close to Paul."

She only nodded.

"Right. I'm takin' the one on the left, the bloke in the shorts. Paul, you alright with takin' the cleanin' lady an' then movin' up to the fanny pack bloke?" He was. "An' then Cindy, you'll 'ave to clobber the lad with the dreads an' then both of us move on the last one, with the blue shirt. We ready?"

Three grim nods came back at her.

"Alright, let's go!"

They leapt up from behind their cover and stormed the five zombies in the supermarket parking. Chelsea charged at her target and with a grunt, let the crowbar swing down, splitting the shorts-zombie's head clean in two. She quickly looked around and saw Paul whacking the head clean off the infected in cleaner's uniform, while Cindy first brought down the dreadlocked corpse and stomped on its head. Along with Cindy, she rushed the approaching blue-shirted shambler and Chelsea caved in its skull with a decisive strike, while Paul beat the last zombie's head down into its ribcage after Elaine had smacked it across the face with her wooden plank.

"Whooh," Chelsea gasped, "Tha' went swimmingleh."

"No time to lose, though," Paul rapped. "We don't know who or what heard all that racket."

"You're right, let's go."

They made their way into the supermarket, Chelsea nabbing a trolley. "Let's fill this up, yeh? Take it back 'ome." The three others silently complied, and they threw open the doors to the supermarket.

It was worse than they'd thought. Most of the place was completely ransacked, and it seemed that whoever had done it, had wanted to do a thorough job, even trying to make sure that any future scavengers had very little prizes to take home. A big pile of cracker boxes had been knocked over and doused with motor oil, the drinks racks were smashed with such abandon that almost all the tins had leaked out on the floor. The mineral water bottles had been pelted with stones, the slingshots the looters had used left discarded on the ground. The bastards had even tried to set fire to some of the stands, actually succeeding here and there, stinking the place up with smoke of burnt cardboard and plastic that could not be anything but harmful. To make it even worse, they'd smashed the pipes of the sprinklers overhead, bringing down litres and litres of water all over the goods.

"Why would they do this?" Elaine breathed. "This is just… pure evil."

"M-hm," Paul agreed, his bat resting on his shoulder. "'If we can't carry it, no one else gets to have it either'. People show themselves at their most horrible in situations like these."

"There's got to be owt worth scavengin' though," Chelsea said, determined not to let the dismal sight get her down. "They can't 'ave destroyed _everythin'_."

"Leave it to me," Cindy said with a smirk. "I'm good at findin' things in the trash." She paused. "That don't sound like sumthin' I oughta be proud of."

"Let's all search," Chelsea ordered. "Elaine, you stand guard, notify us as soon as you see anythin' move that's nae a bird or a tumbleweed."

Elaine licked her lips nervously. "Alright." Then she went to stand by the front windows.

The supermarket was a total disaster, and on close inspection, it was even worse than they'd feared. The fuckers had really gone all-out on the groceries, determined to leave nothing whole. Chelsea was able to salvage three cans of pig-swill American light beer, three boxes of crackers that had been spared most of the motor-oil shower so that the cardboard didn't seem soaked all the way through, one jar of salad sauce had miraculously survived the fall and the smashing frenzy it and its brethren had been exposed to. Its comrades had not been so lucky. Two packets of crisps were still sealed, and she also managed to pull three tins of peaches from the ruins, as well as two cartons of semi-skimmed milk, though they were covered with the blood of the other unfortunates of their kind. A careful search of the fired sweets stand also produced four packs of breath mints that remained unscathed, though the water from the sprinklers had done a number on them. She loaded her sad prizes into the trolley. Paul had scored some toothbrushes, some relatively dry bog rolls, some cleaning supplies, a pack of condoms that hadn't melted in the fire, and three bottles of shampoo. It was anti-lice, but it'd do. Perhaps that was even for the best. Cindy was the proud bearer of a small box of protein bars, three packs of instant coffee, a box of tea bags (or well, that herbal infusion shite that people confused with tea), two boxes of sugary breakfast cereal, three packs of trail mix, two gossip magazines, and a semi-soaked booklet of brain teasers. But her biggest prize was a large box of dried oat flakes, around six kilos give or take, that had somehow hid behind a cardboard gadget stand. Americans might thumb their noses at oatmeal porridge, but it was nourishing, healthy, and the flakes kept for a very, very long time (as long as the mice didn't get to them at least).

Everyone acknowledged Cindy as the winner of the treasure hunt.

The trolley loaded and no tangos in sight, they left the ruined supermarket in dubious spirits. On the one hand, they'd be safe for a few days, food-wise. The trolley rattled a bit, but the loot, scant though it was, was too much to load in their bags. They'd have to push it all the way home. That meant no cross-country shortcuts, and taking the thing through the clogged highway would also be misery.

It proved to be downright suicidal when they reached the first pile-up and spotted several humans, armed with rifles and shotguns, searching the cars. Everyone was quick enough to duck out of sight before they were noticed, but as they huddled behind the cars, they realized it might be a bad idea to reveal themselves to these people. They might be friendly, or at least non-hostile, but with the heat they were packing, nobody wanted to take the risk. Quietly, they sneaked back down the off-ramp and went in the opposite direction. They'd have to navigate some side streets to get back to the main road, but better that than getting shot in the ass.

The buildings quickly dissipated, and they found themselves on a lonely road, hoping it would lead back to the shelter, with not even Cindy knowing where they were. All there was, was a thin strip of asphalt, with grass and bushes around them, small trees further away. It offered a relaxing view that provided a feeling of safety, but if the road veered off too much, they'd have to double back or abandon the trolley and go cross-country. Thankfully the strip of road curved in more-or-less the right direction after making a sizeable detour. They'd probably lose an hour or so, Paul figured. The trees closed in on the road, and soon, they were walking in a small forest, the green canopy over their heads. It was nice, offering a cool bit of shade instead of the burning sun all the time.

"How do you do it?"

"… Ha?"

Elaine had come to walk next to Chelsea. "Y'know, going out here every day. Beating these walking corpses to death."

Chelsea could do nothing but shrug. ""I'unno. We just do it, I s'pose."

"Someone has to, I guess," Elaine said. "Do you sleep well at night? I mean, no nightmares and all?"

"Actually, it's mostly alright. I mean, it feels less bad if we think of it as doin' 'em a favour, d'you know wha' I mean?"

"Mm. Makes sense. Putting them to rest."

"… Yeh."

"Thanks again for everything you did, Chelsea. I know I've said it often already, but there's no such thing as too much gratitude when it comes to someone pulling you out of the mud when you were about to go under."

"Ah, 'salright, love. Really. You can let it go now, we're 'appy to 'ave yeh."

She laughed. "I'll stop going on about it. Just know that I'll do whatever I can to be a valuable member of the group. And now I promise I won't nag about it anymore. So hey, you and Paul…?"

Oh, she felt that one coming from a mile away. Unable to resist the corner of her mouth turning up in amusement, she asked, "Wha'?"

"You uh, seem to get along? I uh, see you look at him pretty often."

"Well yeh, I mean, there's just four of us, an' I've got a lot of faith in his military savvy, y'know?"

"And no chance of – "

She chuckled. "E's married. To a bloke."

"Oh!" she realized. "… Oh."

"Yeh, so even if I _was_ interested, which I'm not, there'd be zero chance. In fact, less than zero, 'cause 'is 'usband died in a car crash a few days ago. Pretty sure 'e's not interested in owt right now, even if 'e weren't into blokes."

"Shame though. I mean, he seems like a good catch. Friendly, funny, not at all bad-looking…"

"Yeh, he'd be a great catch. _Fer a bloke_."

Elaine looked back at him, pushing the trolley for another five minutes until his turn ended. "Mm. And what about Cindy? How'd you find her?"

Chelsea had to laugh when she remembered the rather unflattering way Cindy had appeared a few days ago, hiding in the bog and stabbing Joel with a screwdriver. She still hadn't figured out which scream had been more girly, hers or Joel's. "She was 'idin' in the toilet when we were searchin' a restaurant. Stabbed Joel with a screwdriver thinkin' we were gonna kill 'er. She'd already lost a friend to looters."

"Ah. And the plane?" her expression became pained. "Did anyone else survive?"

"Just one. Some wotsisface lyin' comatose in the basement. Everyone else… Gone. My best friend. Your crewmates. Gone."

She sighed, but didn't break like Chelsea feared she might. "I'm really sorry about your friend. I only remember shreds of the minutes before the crash, but she seemed nice."

"She was. She was a better friend than I deserved."

"Wow. She must have been pretty amazing then."

The veiled compliment was nice, even though Chelsea doubted she deserved it. "She was. Back when my parents were arguin' all the time, I got to stay with 'er. 'Er family was all… lovin' and carin'. She showed me there was a different way too. That not every day 'ad to be one hour after the other of people screamin' and breakin' dishes."

"At the risk of sounding like a broken record, sorry about your youth. You know, your parents?"

"Don't get me wrong, they were nice people, deep down. Just… bad at communicatin', I s'pose. 'Ad no way of expressin' their emotions other'n shoutin' an' reproachin'. Ah well. 'Sall in the past now. They're probably dead anyway."

"You don't know that. You don't know how badly the rest of the world was hit… right?"

"Yeh, true, but… probably pretty badly. Davis can't hear owt on the radio 'cept this one bloke in a shack somewhere. We've got to assume the worst… though I'd return to England if I could. I need to get back at some point. Find out wha' 'appened."

Elaine sighed. "I wonder if my parents are still alive. They're way to far from here. Back in Kansas. I might never know. Maybe they're alive and wondering about me too. But it's not like I can send a letter through the Pony Express."

"No. It's not."

"Hey y'all?"

Cindy had been walking a bit ahead, and she'd stopped, turning towards the others. "There's a few houses here. Y'all wanna see if we can fill up that trolley some more?"

Chelsea looked at the others and no one objected. "Sure, yeh. But we're careful, alright? This place is out in the boonies, infection might not even 'ave hit here."

"It has." Paul said. "You can pretty much assume it's hit everywhere."

"Well, then it's zombies an' not livin' folk we need to be careful of."

They approached, but saw only three houses, nothing moving except for the trees in the gentle wind. The clouds had drawn a grey blanket over the sky and the temperature had dropped somewhat, giving Chelsea goosebumps. The wind began picking up now too, and the three houses before her now seemed surrounded by an ominous oppression in the air.

Cindy scouted ahead, but she too gestured that there were no threats.

"She's wrong," Paul said abandoning the trolley and motioning for Cindy to stay low. "Look, there, in the grass."

Chelsea saw it too, now that Paul had pointed it out. There were bodies in the white house's front yard, difficult to see because most were dressed in green or camo, blending in with the surrounding moss and grass.

"They all seem pretty dead to me," Chelsea said. "And I mean, _dead_ -dead."

"Mm. But whoever killed them might still be around."

"Or whatever," Chelsea pointed out. "Aren't there like, bears an' cougars in Texas?"

"I think we're pretty safe 'round these parts," Cindy said as they caught up to her. "Bears are mostly the southwest, and mountain lions, well, you can run into 'em everywhere but they usually leave people alone. There's just humans to be scared of here. Well, that and all them venomous spiders and bugs and snakes."

"Pretty sure a spider didn't kill all these folks," Paul said. "Means we're probably dealing with a human, or several."

"Or they all went and murdered each other," Elaine said as they huddled in the bushes.

"Possible," Paul admitted, "But not very likely. Definitely not a chance we should take."

"Abandon the plan? Go through the woods?" Cindy asked.

"Rather not give up the trolley," Chelsea muttered. "There's no movement in those houses. They look abandoned."

" _Look_." Paul pointed out.

"It's possible that these bodies are just zombies," Elaine said. "But if they're humans…"

"Let's go take a look, yeah?" Chelsea finally decided. "Whatever killed those deaders is probably long gone."

"Also," Cindy said, her white surgical mask moving as she spoke, "See that sign? 'Looters will be shot'." She paused. "I'm thinkin', if whoever lives there decided to put up a warnin' sign, they're probably reasonable, right?"

"Unless they think we're looters," Elaine pointed out. "And we are, from a certain point of view."

"Come on," Chelsea said. "We either risk it, or we go through the woods and lose out on all the things we've found in the supermarket. We can just walk past these houses an' not bother anyone, they probably won't shoot us."

" _Or_ ," Cindy said, "we can try somethin' else. Maybe they'll shoot looters, but they probably won't shoot people who want to make a trade. Maybe they can use food, and we can get some better weapons. I mean, it certainly looks like they've got hardware, right?"

Paul blew. "Sounds like a pretty big risk to take."

"Cindy's right," Chelsea said. "We can't spend all our days mistrustin' people. I know there's still good folk 'round. An' Cindy's right, we ever want to get our 'ands on some ammunition, we need to do some tradin'."

She rose, put her crowbar in the trolley and walked up to the house. No shots came, no bullet tore through her. She heard the others following behind. Gently, she tapped on the door, but there was no response. She rapped again, harder this time, but nothing happened. Eventually, she slowly pushed the door open.

"… 'ello?"

She saw nothing inside, except an old man with white hair sitting in an armchair, hunched over with a rifle in his lap. She could hear gentle snoring.

"… 'ello?"

The man shot awake, leaped up in his chair and pointed his rifle straight at Chelsea, who immediately raised her hands to show they were empty. "Don't be gannin' radgie now. We're not lookin' for trouble, we just thought – "

"Whatever you thought," the old man barked, "It was wrong. Get on outta here."

"Look mate, we're not 'ere to rob you or owt, we just want to maybe trade a few things."

"I'm not lookin' to trade. Now _git_."

"Alright, alright, no need to – "

From behind a closed door on the far end of the house came a hard banging.

"What's that then?" Chelsea asked. Was this guy keeping prisoners? Or was he a kidnapper?

"You didn't hear anything," the old man said. His face was lined with deep wrinkles and he had dark blue rings under his eyes. His white hair was dishevelled and messy, but it was still full and rich. He looked like he hadn't slept in weeks. He lowered the rifle but his eyes remained wary. "I'm telling you again, I don't need anything so there's no need for you to be here."

More banging came from the door, and this time Chelsea could clearly hear a hard, guttural growling. "Is tha' a zombie in there? Why are you keepin' a zombie in there?"

"That's not a zombie," he snarled between gritted teeth. "That's my _wife_." Tears stood in his eyes. "That's my _wife_. Don't call her that."

"Oh, I'm sorry, I didn't mean... Is she… infected?"

"That doesn't concern you. Look, I told you I'm not in the mood for trading. Or seeing anybody, for that matter. I'm askin' you again to turn around and leave. I'm sure you mean well, but I'd like to be alone."

Cindy's voice came from behind her, softly. "We prolly should, uh…"

"Aye. But before we go… why are you keepin' 'er here. You're not… hopin' for a cure, are you?"

"You damn well better believe I'm hoping for a cure. I'm not giving up on my Rebecca. She was bit trying to save others, she risked her life for them, and I'm gonna stay here with her until she's better. And if a cure doesn't come, well… then I'm staying here until I die." He let himself fall into his armchair, his rifle crossed over his legs. Chelsea didn't doubt that he could still raise it in a heartbeat if it was necessary.

It might be dangerous to upset this man, he was clearly unstable, but Chelsea thought she could give it a try at least. "I uh… I don't mean to upset you, but… once someone's turned, the uh… condition's incurable."

"You don't know that," he bit at her. "We don't know that."

Paul interjected. "Hey, is that you?" he was pointing at a photo on the wall, of seven soldiers posing in front of a helicopter. "Judging from the Huey, that's probably Vietnam, huh? Man, I got nothing but respect for the boys who fought in the green hell."

The white-haired man quickly looked at the photo and confirmed. "Yeah, that's me, second on the right. What's it to you?"

"U.S. Army Ranger here. Soldier, just like you."

"Yeah well," he grunted. "I'm not a soldier anymore. I leave that job to the young and stupid."

"Can't blame you for feeling that way," Paul said. "Vietnam left a lot of people disillusioned."

"You don't know the half of it."

As volatile as this man looked on the outside, Chelsea didn't think he was a bad, or a violent sort. "Y'know, wha'? At least let us brew you a pot of coffee, an' then we're on our way. You look bloody knackered, a cup of coffee might make you feel better."

"That's nice, but I'd really like to be alone…" but he rubbed his eyes and continued, "… fine. Sit down wherever you like."

"Alrighjt. We'll 'ave a cup an' then leave you alone if you like. I'm Chelsea, an' this is Cindy, Paul an' Elaine."

"You can call me Bud, if you have to."

"Cheers. Elaine, can you get a pack of coffee from the trolley?"

"Of course."

When they sat down, she felt Paul's hand gently tap her on the shoulder in approval.

"So," he asked. "Did you come all the way from redcoatland to brew coffee for an old yank?"

She chuckled. "No, we were just headin' back to our place with the food we found in an abandoned supermarket. We wanted to head back, but the road was blocked by these creepy prepper types, so we went 'round, came by this place."

"The dead bodies didn't give you enough of an indication that I didn't want to be disturbed?"

"Yeh, but the sign made us think those were prob'ly looters."

"They were. You can grab their stuff on the way out if you like. I got no use for it. Neither do they. Consider it payment for the coffee."

Elaine came back in and headed straight for the coffee maker, doing her thing. The door banged again, harsh growls audible through the wood.

"Mate… sooner or later, she's breakin' that door down."

He shrugged. "What happens, happens. I'm not leaving her here."

As the coffee dripped through the filter, Chelsea tried to make some small talk. "Bet your military experience 'elped you survive out 'ere on yer own, yeah?"

"It did."

That wasn't exactly a winner in terms of conversation-making. "An' you settled down 'ere when you retired?"

"Not exactly. Served two tours in Nam. Finally woke up and realized I was just bein' used as gristle for the political machine, so I quit the military, came back here to my old family home to get married and get into a safer line of work. We were doing fine until all this mess happened." He made a puzzled face. "Why do you even want to know all this?"

"I'm just int'rested."

Another salvo of bangs on the door. The old guy probably didn't even hear it anymore.

"Hey y'all, that door ain't gonna hold for much longer," Cindy remarked. Chelsea hoped she wouldn't say anything stupid at this point, but she wasn't wrong about this particular fact. The jamb rocked with every blow.

The old man had nothing more to say than, "Coffee's ready."

Silently, Elaine rose to get the pot.

"So what's your plan then? To just sit here an' wait to die?"

"If it comes to that, yes."

"Can I ask you a… bit of a painful question?' Chelsea said carefully.

He uttered a short, grunting laugh. One without any humour in it. "Let me guess. You're going to ask me if this is what my wife would've wanted, aren't you?"

"Well…'

'Yeah. Figured you were presumptuous enough for that. This is rich, some British trixie with a purple chicken comb lecturing me on what my wife would've wanted."

She wasn't getting blocked this easily. "It's true, though? Innit? All that's left in there is a body."

"As long as there's hope, I'm staying."

She had to break it to him, make him see reason. "Mate. I'm really, really sorry to 'ave to tell you this, but… your wife's… not comin' back. What's left of 'er isn't… isn't human anymore, an' it never will be. Let 'er go."

He just looked away as Elaine poured the coffee.

"Like you said, yeah? She got bit tryin' to help others. Think she wouldn't want you to honour her memory by helpin' others as well? We've got a Shelter, a short ways from 'ere. Good people. The sort who brew coffee for tired old blokes even though they get called a British trixie. You can come with us."

"I can't leave here. Not as long as I have my wife."

She couldn't let him stay here, in this misery. "She's not your wife anymore. She deserves to rest, mate. Imagine if the tables were turned… would you want her to keep you locked up? Like this? In the bog, of all places?"

He only looked away and sighed.

"If you let 'er go, you've got the chance to carry on. To do good things. To 'elp others. If you stay, you'll either end up shootin' yourself, or the thing that was once your wife will break through that door and tear you apart. Don't let it come to that."

He lowered his head and hid his face in her hands. "Finish your coffee and step outside. Give me five minutes to think."

Chelsea quickly poured the rest of the coffee down her gullet and gave the others a look that told them to do the same. "Do the right thing."

They all stepped outside, the taste of shitty freeze-dried coffee in their mouths.

"Think he'll go through with it?" Elaine asked.

"I dunno," Chelsea said back. "But it's gotta be 'is decision to make, we can't make it for 'im."

"He looked like he was beginning to see reason," Paul said. "Come on, let's see what we can use here." He stepped over to the bodies and began searching them.

"Hey y'all, this one's a zombie," Cindy called out. "I ain't searchin' that one, y'all okay with that?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Yes, Cindy, that's fine. Just the regular dead guys."

One of the raiders had held a ka-bar knife, another had chosen a two-handed bush hook as his weapon of choice. The last one actually had a firearm, an old .38 revolver with two filled speedloaders. Two revolver rounds still remained in the cylinder. Most of their other stuff was useless (one even lugged a wad of money around, what a pillock), but the revolver-wielding one also had a pocket first-aid kit in a bloodstained fanny pack. There were also some untouched crackers in her back pocket. Every little bit counted.

"Well," Cindy said, dumping the ka-bar in the trolley. "I'd say that was five minutes."

Chelsea stuffed her hands on her pockets and looked back at the cabin, the grey sky overhead giving it a dismal air. "Yeh. Shame, but if this is what he wants, there's n – "

The loud bang from a rifle sounded, and a few seconds later, the old soldier came out, his head lowered, and a duffel bag slung over his one shoulder, and his rifle over the other. He walked towards them and passed them without a word. Only when he'd gained a few paces, did he say in a hoarse voice, "Let's get going."

All four – even Cindy – were wise enough to leave him to his thoughts as they walked. He only spoke two times. One to ask where the Shelter was, and again to tell them he knew the shortest route and to follow him. The entire walk was made in relative silence, with the only real conversationist being the rattling supermarket trolley. It was Chelsea's turn to push, and she didn't mind even though her muscles were still sore from the day before.

They emerged from the treeline a half-hour later, in the late afternoon, and walked back to the Shelter in another two hours, just about in time for supper.

Chelsea didn't fancy a shower today, so she went to keep Davis company as he made dinner. It was a funny sight, even though she shouldn't consider it to be, a man in a wheelchair cutting vegetables on a countertop as high as his chin. But hey, he did it, no matter how difficult it was. She helped him out a bit, and after a while, the nondescript vegetable soup was ready, combined with some of the biscuit, it'd made for a decent meal. He talked about his firefighting days as they cooked, sharing stories which ran the gamut from hilarious, to tragic, to suspenseful. She could tell he felt heartbroken about having to end his career, maybe even more than about the injury itself, but had learned to see the best in people and things, adapting as best he could and finding his place in the world again. When there was a break in the storytelling, she told him the news about another survivor joining, further raising his spirits.

"You're doing well, Chelsea. It's good to know that I won't have to shoot you or anything."

He was clearly joking. Must've been.

Renee was doing better, joining them at the dinner table even though she still dragged her leg a bit. Joel seemed his old self again too, his gruesome bout of infernal, incapacitating bowel cramps mysteriously vanished. Anita wanted to finish a repair job on the fence, so they saved some The new sheltermate preferred not to join at the dinner table, saying he'd rather settle in, have some time for himself. It was understandable. Chelsea couldn't imagine how it must feel, sitting in a classroom converted to a bare-bones bedroom, with a group of unknowns, after just having put down a zombified wife and realizing that 'this is your life now'. He must be feeling intensely alone. Perhaps Paul could get him to open up, Army buddies and all.

"I'm hittin' the shower," Cindy announced. "Anyone else?"

The female members of the group declined each in their own way.

"Alright, cool. Then at least I can sing as loud as I want to."

It was the signal for the dinner table to break up and disperse. Before Chelsea could relax, she still had the job board to fill out.

She stood in front of the whiteboard and wondered who to bring tomorrow. They'd have to go out again, probably every day at first, but she knew she'd have to rotate members. Cindy and Paul were probably fine with being taken along, but Elaine was still too fragile to spend day after day in the field. Or was she? Four people really was the minimum for a scavenging party. Any less and they'd be unable to defend themselves, too many and they wouldn't be able to keep a low profile.

Hmmm, difficult… Maybe Joel could make up for his underachieving day. Yep. Much as she had her doubts, and much as he'd likely object, Joel would be coming along, give Elaine the chance to process some more things – trauma wasn't healed in a day – with Cindy and Paul filling out the rest of the roster. Cindy would be insulted if she wasn't asked to come along, and Paul had clearly stated that field work was the best thing for him, both in terms of practical use, as well as therapeutically.

Then for Elaine… she'd have to find a new job for her. Perhaps, now that the group was growing larger, people had a need to feel welcome. Someone to check on the workers to see if they needed anything, someone to clean things up after them, to give them someone to talk to during breaks. Hell, even to make lemonade to provide relief from the burning sun. She'd call it 'hospitality'. That seemed a good word to describe it succinctly.

She popped the cap off the whiteboard marker and wrote,

 _Chelsea Jayne - Scav_

 _Renee Cass – Rest more!_

 _Anita Cass – Patrol fence_

 _Joel Oswalt - Scav_

 _Elaine Martin - Hospitality_

 _Davis Cray – Radio / Maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen – Scav_

 _Paul Rainier – Scav_

 _Bud ? – Settle in_

 _Comatose bugger – being comatose_

As she wrote, Paul came to stand next to her, let his eyes go over the tasks, and went, "Hm-hm."

"It look alright to you?"

"Oh sure, yeah. I wanted to talk to you about something else though."

"I'm listenin'?"

"Well," he explained. "It's this fence. I mean, I get that just whipping up a guard tower is too tall of an order for our small group, but maybe we can reinforce the fence a bit. It seems really, really weak and if we were to get a zombie attack in force, the fence probably wouldn't hold."

He had a point, but, "the zombies 'aven't found us thus far. What makes you think they ever will?"

"More people means more noise. More people going in and out. A higher profile. We need to make sure our defences grow along with our community." That made sense. "So, unless you had something else in mind for our scavenging run tomorrow…?"

"Na, I didn't. So you'd recommend gettin' tools an' materials for the fence."

"Yep. We'll need lots, but maybe Cindy knows a place. Or Davis, or Joel. They're all native, I understand?"

"Yeh. Alreet, we'll talk to them at the breakfast table tomorrow, see where we can go."

He smiled. "Great. Now I'm off to bed, don't you stay up too late either. The more you're refreshed, the smoother you talk."

She had to chuckle at that. She didn't fancy herself a smooth talker, but if she was honest with herself, she _had_ managed to convince others of her arguments very well in recent days. She wasn't the strongest, or the fastest, or the toughest, but she had that going for her.

Staying up too late wasn't in her plans, but she did treat herself to some pleasant reading in her bed – however uncomfortable it was – immersing herself in a generic but entertaining detective novel from the library before turning the light off and letting the day come to a quiet, relaxing end.


	7. Day 6 - Hardware Requirements

**.**

* * *

 **DAY SIX**

 **Hardware Requirements**

* * *

Awake before the 'official hour'. Chelsea rubbed the sand from her eyes and looked at the small alarm clock she'd found in the old chemistry classroom. Just over five. Might as well get up and go for a pee and a drink of stale water. Davis had informed her the well would be in working order somewhere before the end of the day, so that was good news, they'd have a back-up plan for when the water pumps would stop working – and they would at some point. Until then though, she'd milk the showers for what they were worth every single day. And at least there was already a working generator on-site, so the fears of living without electricity were at least somewhat alleviated.

She took a squat, poured some water down her gullet – for once uncaring about trudging around in her pyjamas – and sat around a bit. There was no point trying to sleep anyway, so might as well stay up and watch the dawn outside. How many cars and bicycles had ridden on that street, taking students to and from the school. Mums and dads kissing their children goodbye, kids being embarrassed to be seen with their parents, all gone. All these people, all those feelings, all that love now dead. Nothing but an empty street in the pale light of dawn. Humans hadn't been kind to the planet, true, but Chelsea had never been one of those people who considered them a 'cancer on the planet' or a 'plague upon the Earth'. You couldn't hold a giggling new-born baby in your arms and call that a cancer. If you could, then the cancer was you.

Chelsea knew the weight of her sadness would crush her if she let it, so she rose and went to make herself a cup of coffee. Not much tea to be found in America, and certainly not this part of it. Deep-friend cookie dough, sure, but tea, heavens no. This coffee, too, was freeze-dried liquid clarts, but it was warm and had some semblance of taste. As she stood shovelling some instant brown grit into a cup (and yawning), someone else came into the kitchen.

"Chelsea, was it?"

She looked up from her coffeemaking adventures and saw the white-haired old soldier standing in the doorway. "Eya. Yeah, tha's it. Can't sleep either, huh?"

"I don't think anyone would sleep like a princess after having to shoot his wife and move in with a bunch of total strangers."

He had a point. She couldn't fix the shooting-your-wife thing, but maybe she could cheer him up a little by saying, "Well, I'm Chelsea Jayne, from Gateshead, a frightfully ugly city described as bein' designed by 'an enemy of the 'uman race'. Tha's in Northeast England, where all the anti-social charvers live, accordin' to television."

"Anti-social whatters?" he asked without much interest, taking the coffee tin from Chelsea.

"Charvers. Tha's like, uneducated workin' class lowlife in track suits an' Burberry caps, y'kno'? There's lots of 'em aboot, bu' it's still a massive stereotype, like."

He shook some coffee powder into a cup. "You don't seem to be doing much to disprove it."

She could choose to be offended at his remark, but that would get them nowhere, and he did have a bit of a point. "Oh, I'm aware tha' I'm proletarian piece of barely-literate 'uman garbage in cheap knockoff Adidas, bu' I'm a minority. Most people are pretty normal, really." She stirred the hot water, watching it turn brown and somewhat aromatic. "I've got no siblings, my parents fight all the time even tho' they're good people at 'eart. I was on a plane to Houston with m'best mate, Tilly. She died in the crash, only Elaine, me, an' some comatose pillock in the cellar survived."

"Uh huh."

"So there, we're no longer strangers. How 'bout you? Who's Bud?"

He sighed, summing up the major points of his life without much interest. "Corporal Bud Larsen, U.S. Army, retired. Married my high-school sweetheart at the age of twenty-three, joined the Army, shot a lot of people, watched a lot of people get shot. Retired after getting disillusioned with military life. Came home just in time to bury my daughter after a drug overdose. Watched my wife turn into a zombie. Shot her." He made his spoon _tink-tink_ against his cup. "That's about it."

"Tha's… a tough deal, mate. I'm really sorry."

"Don't be, it's not your fault. You were right about my wife. I had to face the music." He turned towards her, leaning on the countertop. "Look, I know I'm not the most pleasant person to be around right now, but I appreciate your efforts. I mean, you're…" he looked her up and down, "… obviously doing the best you can."

Chelsea believed this was what they called 'insults through compliments'. Still, the man was probably feeling horrible, so she let it slide. And again, he had a point. She was just some chavette without much of a clue. Then again, god dammit, she'd suffered and lost too, and she didn't deserve this kind of thing, no matter how unintentional. "I am doin' my best, yeah. Despite all the grief an' sorrow I've suffered after losin' the people I loved, just like you."

"Yeah," he said. "I know. That was unfair of me." He took a careful sip of his coffee before deciding it was too hot. "Let's start over, that alright with you?"

"Tha's ace. So, any hobbies, special interests?"

He half-shrugged. "I'm good with a gun, know my way around the wilderness. Can bandage the occasional wound. And I can tolerate even the shittiest cheap bourbon."

"And the cheapest coffee too, it seems," Chelsea said, grimacing into her cup.

"In the military, you learn to appreciate small things. Like coffee not being made of water and soaked cigarette butts."

"An' 'ow 're you feelin'? I mean, you'll probably need some time to settle in an' tha'?"

He shook his head, swallowing a mouthful of coffee. "Not really. I'll feel better when I'm busy. You're uh, sort of the boss around here, right?"

"Not the boss, bu' yeah, people told me I could have the thankless job of assignin' jobs. But um, you're sure right?"

"A hundred percent. I'm ready for duty, tell me what needs to be done."

"Well, I'd suggest gettin' to know the uh, base a little, an' the people in it. I'd rather not take you out in the field just yet. So I'd say, patrol the fence, secure the surroundings, check possible uh, points of entry or wha'ever it's called in military lingo, an' maybe decide on a good spot where we should build a watchtower. Paul said we need one, so…"

He nodded. "Seems to have a good head on his shoulders."

"Yeh, 'e's been a big 'elp. Everyone, really." Some more than others, but she kept that to herself. "I'll update the job board at breakfast."

"Sure."

"That way we can free Anita up for reinforcin' this fence a bit. Least, what little she can do with the materials we've got lyin' around."

"Mm."

Well, that was the conversation pretty much over, it would seem. Chelsea knew that when people's responses reduced themselves to one-word answers and then simple grunts, that it was time to stop talking. "Alreet, I'm gonna change the job board an' tha'. Get ready for another day among the zombies."

"Mm."

She did as she'd said, changing the tasks around, to

 _Bud Larsen – Patrol_

 _Anita Cass – reinforce fence_

That'd do just fine. She wasn't sure how much Anita could do to make the fence stronger without decent materials, but anything would be better than nothing.

"Hey Chel."

She was limping just a little bit, but Renee's face was no longer a mask of pain. "Eya Renee. You look lots better."

"Thanks," she said, managing a weak smile. "I was looking for you, actually. The uh, guy in the basement is pretty close to waking up. Figured it'd be best if he met you first."

It was flattering of her to say so, but really, there was no need for that kind of… deference? Recognition? Subservience? Whatever it was. "Aw, Renee, it's not like I'm the boss of the Shelter or owt."

"No, I meant so you could tell him about the plane."

Oh. Yes, that was a good reason. Chelsea decided to ignore her own slightly embarrassing presumption and said, "Oh right, yeah. Sure, I'll uh, try to break the news to 'im. 'Old on."

She quickly wrote a few lines on the job board

 _with Renee to check on comatose bloke_

 _back in a bit_

 _don't leave without me_

 _C_

and followed Renee to the cellar. The fluorescent lights buzzed overhead as they went to the makeshift coma room. They'd need some kind of infirmary at some point. People would get injured, some seriously, and they'd need help. They couldn't just stash them in the cellar. The place was unhygienic, cold, and looked dismal. Chelsea reinforced her own mental note to secure some kind of beds to at least let the injured rest in relative comfort.

"He should be coming around any second," Renee said. "At least, that's what it looks like. I'm…" she gave a quick, embarrassed laugh, "… just a vet after all."

"I already told you, Renee, you're a lifesaver right now," Chelsea reassured her gently.

"Here he is. He might be disoriented when he wakes up. Probably very sore too. I turned him over every once in a while to prevent bed sores, but I'm not familiar with the whole therapy for coma patients thing. Y'know, like muscle massages and electrical stimulation and stuff."

"It's fine, 'e'll 'ave to recover for a while anyway."

"M-hm." The man in the bed was stirring, his eyelids occasionally fluttering. "He's in regular sleep now, but we best not wake him up, he'll be jarred enough as is."

"Yeh, I can imagine." All they could do was wait for him to wake up on his own. "How long d'you think it'll take?"

"Could be five minutes, could be fifty."

"Right." Best not to leave, even for a short moment. Besides, there was still plenty of time before the day's scavenging activities would begin, so it wasn't like she was on a tight schedule or anything. "So, 'ow 're you feelin'?"

Renee smiled. "Better. I mean, I can still feel my heart pounding in my leg and that makes it hard to sleep, but apart from that, everything's healing nicely. No infections, and I'm not woozy or dizzy so I don't think there's that much blood loss."

"Your mum over 'er initial shock?"

She help up a hand in a don't-get-me-started gesture. "I spent the better part of yesterday calming her down, assuring her I'm not in any mortal danger and that I check my wound for infections every two hours. Which is a lie, just so we're clear. But yeah, she's settled down a bit once she realized I'd already spent half a day hobbling about the place without keeling over dead." She sighed, looking at the ceiling as she sat on a tool cabinet. It wasn't a sigh of frustration or sadness, but one of those loving-and-patient sighs you let out when you thought of how people who loved you could exaggerate with their concern. "It's a bit suffocating at times, but I know she does it because she cares so much."

"Tha's exactly why," Chelsea agreed. "I don't 'ave bairns, but if I did, I'd probably 'ave a heart attack every time they cut their fingers or summat. I can understand 'er."

"Oh yeah, I can too. I mean, it's not like I'm flippant about what might happen to her."

"No," Chelsea agreed with a grin. "You're not."

"Hey but," Renee asked. "I don't think I ever asked you. Do you have someone special? Someone who might still be out there, waiting for you?"

She shook her head. "Not at the moment, no. I've got a few exes, most of 'em I still get along with pretty alreet, but none who care about me so much that they'd come lookin' for me. Or that I'd go lookin' for them. An' my parents, yeah… even if they were still alive, and even if they still believed I was, they'd have nowhere to start lookin', so I don't think I need to have too much faith in the possibility of them ever finding me."

"It's… so weird to imagine you having parents."

"Well… I weren't born in a test tube or summat."

She laughed. "No, no, I mean… I know you as Chelsea, you know? Just Chelsea. Not Chelsea, the daughter of two people who lives in a house, goes to school, bickers with her parents about chores, takes a driving exam, all those things. It's… easy to forget that people had different lives before all this if you didn't know them before."

She saw what Renee meant. She, too, had often wondered what kind of histories the people in this Shelter had had before all the horror. Before they'd been reduced to individuals. "Yeh, true. It's weird, innit? But, I mean, if there's owt you want to know about me, just ask. I'm 'ere an' we've got time to kill."

"Okay um… don't take this the wrong way, and don't get angry or something?"

Chelsea chuckled. "You'd 'ave to ask a pretty offensive question to get me angry."

"Okay. Well, I was wondering, and um, I mean, not that that would change anything or that I'd judge or anything, but um…"

"Yeees?"

"Well. The way you talk about your best friend sometimes."

She knew where this was going but decided to play dumb so Renee could embarrass herself a bit more.

"It's um… well. Were you… maybe more than friends? I, I mean, not that there's anything wrong with that. I just, I'm just curious."

Chelsea enjoyed Renee's awkwardness just a bit more, bless her, and then said, "Yeh, you're right, Renee. We were more than just friends."

"Oh! Oh, right, I mean, I figured you might be…"

"We were _best_ friends," she explained. "Sisters in everythin' but blood." She felt her eyes begin to burn but she spoke on. "I've never loved anyone like I loved 'er, she was always there for me when things turned to shite at home, which was all the time, an' she showed me that things could also be different. If it weren't for 'er, I would've ended up like so many people back 'ome, a useless anti-social delinquent with nowt in life but the prospect of the next benefits check." She felt tears welling up in her eyes, but they didn't stop her. "I'd probably be pregnant right now, or with kids already, knocked up by some gap-toothed deadbeat durin' a drunken evenin' who ran for the 'ills as soon as 'e realized 'e was 'avin' a kid." She wiped the tears from her eyes and realized the truth only now, when she spoke it. "She saved me, Renee. There's no other way to say it. She… saved me."

It felt as if a giant weight came off her shoulders, one she didn't even realize she was carrying. Being able to articulate the feelings she didn't know she had was immensely liberating. She wiped more tears off her cheeks and said to Renee, "So yeh. I loved 'er. Maybe not as much as she deserved, bu' I did." She took a breath, let the moment pass and then said, "But if you're askin' if we were romantically or sexually involved, then the answer is no. Tilly became more an' more ambiguous, sexually, over the years," she felt that it was alright to say, that Tilly wouldn't mind, "bu' she never made moves at me or showed me owt bu' friendship. As for me, I'm just not attracted to women."

Renee sat looking at her, her head slightly cocked.

Chelsea chuckled. "You can say summat, I'm done."

"Well," Renee said, unsure where to begin. "I uh, just thought… you know. But it sounds like you've lost someone incredibly important. I'm… so sorry."

"She was. Maybe I didn't tell 'er enough, bu' she was. I can only 'ope I meant as much to 'er as she did to me. I definitely tried."

"Strange though," Renee said, slowly swinging her legs as she sat on the tool cabinet. "I mean, I always imagined you as this super-confident leader-type, even though I've only known you for a few days. Weird to hear you say things like that, that you needed saving."

"I did, though. Maybe I'm a bit less vulnerable now that societal expectations're mostly gone. Nobody gives a shit about class or wealth anymore. I'm no longer the fringes-of-socie'y poor kid I used to be, now the things that matter are things I actually _can_ control, not bollocks like social standin' or which school my parents sent me to."

Renee sighed again. "Says a lot about us humans that we need the end of the world to finally stop judging each other based on class and wealth."

"Oh yeh, when we lived in an orderly society, everyone was blartin' about all kinds of stupid isms, but no one dared to acknowledge the only ism that actually mattered, fuckin' classism."

Renee chuckled. "What, you mean racism and sexism didn't matter?"

"No, no, I mean… yeh, I kinda do. I mean, there were obviously racist and sexist gobshites, an' they fucking stank, bu' the reality, if it came down to it, yeah, was that no matter if you were black or white, male or female, if you were rich, you got away with anythin', an' if you weren't, you were fuckin' garbage. It was always about fuckin' money an' power, an' all the other isms were just… sand thrown in people's eyes. Tha's wha' I mean, y'kno'?"

"Do you also believe chemicals in the water were turning frogs gay?" Renee grinned.

"Aw, come on, it's nowt like tha'. I'm just sayin' tha' the rich twats 'ad everythin' to gain by makin' the common people fight among themselves."

Renee became pensive. "Mmmmm. I don't think they deliberately cultivated – "

" _Hnnnnnnnnnnn._ "

The conversation was instantly forgotten, all attention going to the man on the improvised hospital bed. His hands moved, clawing for purchase at his sides, but finding none.

"Whoa, easy," Renee said, pushing his shoulders down. "Don't try to get up, you need to stay down for now."

"D- don't… tell me wh… what to do."

Oh dear. The tone was set, it seemed. And suddenly, it dawned on Chelsea where she'd seen this bloke before. The plane, he'd been on the plane… the blond guy with the nasal voice and the hopelessly dated glasses. Arguing with Elaine. About… something. She hadn't heard what, but it was probably something petty.

"I'm not telling you what to do, sir, but it's best if – "

The blond man slapped Renee's hands away and again tried to sit up, getting to a 45-degree angle before flopping back down on the bed with a long groan.

"Look, you've been in a coma, you'll need to lie still for a while until the disorientation and the dizziness go away. You can't just – "

"What happened?" Seemed the man had resigned himself to his bedridden state for now.

"You were on a plane, mate," Chelsea explained. "Remember tha'?"

He blinked against the light. "What the… did I end up in the… ass end of England or something?"

"Nah yeh blighter, worse. The arse end of fuckin' Texas."

He let his tongue crawl around in his dry mouth. "I… remember the plane. Arguing with… some… stupid stewardess bimbo. It all went to Hell but…"

Chelsea resisted the urge to point out that Elaine seemed much less of an idiot than he was. Then again, the man was waking up from a coma, so any social unpleasantries were forgivable. "Infected took over, yeah? One of the passengers was carryin' the infection. Spread it to the entire plane. Everyone was gannin' all radgie, includin' the crew, an' down we went. Only three people made it out. You, me, an'… well. Someone you might remember."

"How long was I out?"

Chelsea let Renee answer that one. "A few days. There's nothing seriously wrong with you, from what I can tell, but you were comatose."

The man's eyes blinked open and settled on Chelsea. "… what's your deal? Did your dad… fuck a purple chicken once or something?"

"Oh that's fuckin' side-splittin', mate. Renee, I'm thinkin' we should've let this ungrateful pillock burn in the plane wreck."

Renee chuckled. "Now, now. I'm sure mister, uh…?"

"Name's Doug." He sounded almost insulted that they had to ask.

"Uh, yes… is not being himself at the moment. Was there anyone with you on the plane, sir?"

Oh yeah, as if this kind of person travelled with company.

"No, no," he said back, annoyed. "Instead of asking useless questions, can you get me a glass of water? I'm parched."

It wasn't just his voice that was annoying. Renee might be inclined to cut him some slack, but Chelsea was sure that people spontaneously acted like their real selves when they awoke from a coma. Not that she knew anything about that, but still. It was a good opportunity to get away, though. "I'll go get one, uh, Renee, you can um… check his vitals or summat."

Renee showed a knowing grin and said, "Sure, I'll occupy myself with our patient while you take the opportunity to remove yourself from the room."

"If you have some coca-cola, I'll take that," the man shouted after Chelsea in his nasal voice. "Or mountain dew, even better!"

She was tempted to get him a glass of vending machine coolant instead.

"Hey, Chelsea. Seen Renee?" Anita was in the atrium, munching a protein bar.

"Yeh, she's down in the cellar," she jabbed her thumb over her shoulder. "Tendin' to our new patient, 'e's woken up."

"Oh, good. He's not… dangerous, is he?"

"Only to people's nerves. E's a bit of a gobshite."

"A…"

"A socially maladjusted individual."

"Oh."

She went on, filled a glass of tap water, and returned.

"Hey! There's a medical examination in progress, you know!" the man immediately shouted when she came back in. He was lying on the bed, his shirt unbuttoned while Renee felt around for internal injuries.

"Mate, trust me, I am _not_ in any way interested in your doubtless godly physique," she said curtly. "Ere, drink up."

His indignation forgotten, the man called Doug grabbed the glass with both hands and greedily gulped down the contents, followed by a loud "Aaahhhhhh."

"Will you be alreet, Renee?"

She nodded. "Sure. Go on, you've got a day's hard work ahead of you. I'll fill our kind and pleasant new addition in about the situation."

"Ace, see you when we get back."

"Be careful, Chel."

"Promised."

The merry band stood ready when she was done grabbing her backpack and scoffing down breakfast.

"Y'all ready, hun?"

"Yeh, good to go. You lot?"

All three nodded with varying degrees of enthusiasm. Cindy, in particular, seemed eager as always to get out and get things done. People could say what they would about her, and they'd probably say a lot, but Chelsea was glad to have her along. Her (admittedly somewhat airheaded) positivity kept the mood up and her energy was a good inspiration for the others. And maybe she had an idea where to get materials.

"So I've been gabbin' with Paul, an' he thinks we really need some materials for the fence and for reinforcements. I agree. No point stockin' our fridges if the fuckin' shamblers will walk right in."

She saw Paul nod in approval.

"So, Joel, Cindy, you 'ave any idea where we might find some buildin' materials?"

Both their faces became concentrated in thought. Or at least she thought they did, Cindy's face was hardly visible, only her dark eyes and the bronze skin around them exposed behind her surgical mask.

"There's a huge supply warehouse on the 183," Joel said, stroking his chin. "But that's almost a day's walk. No way we'd make it back before nightfall, if we survive the journey at all. Apart from that… well, there's probably construction sites here and there, but nothing big and accessible comes to mind."

"Hey but," Cindy said, weren't they renovatin' the old truck stop on the 87? I know some shitty acquaintances of mine went there to shoot up. They bought their shit at the truck stop, then hid in the construction site and got high."

"I s'pose…" Joel thought, and then remembered himself. "I'm gonna pretend I didn't hear that talk about shootin' up, though."

Cindy's eyes rolled above her surgical mask. "Sheet, Joel, society's gone and collapsed, nobody gives a shit about the god damn war on drugs anymore. Sides, I said they were acquaintances, I ain't never shot anythin' in my veins. Just the occasional joint and a few snorts when I had the occasion."

"Yeh, alright," Chelsea stopped the argument before it could start. "No alternatives?"

"Shit yeah," Joel remembered. "There's the Diamondback hardware store, up north. Big place, probably a wholesale location. Got a load of interestin' stuff, including construction tools and materials." He slapped his forehead. "Can't believe I didn't think of that first. It's a long way, though, and we'll need some kinda transportation if we wanna being home anythin' int'restin', but it's worth a shot."

"Sure is," Chelsea agreed. "Owt else you can tell us?"

"Nah, not really. It's a ways off the 67, a small industrial park in the woods. You need to know it's there or you'll miss it."

"Great," Paul said. "Means less chance of encountering looters. We still might, though," he made sure to impart. "If we can think of it, so can others."

"You remember how to get there, though?" Cindy asked.

Joel's pensive frown deepened. "I think… it was um… hold on. We passed the old Ballinger hospital on the 67, but we had to turn back because we'd gone too far. I remember the turn-off being this little road, you'd never expect there to be wholesale materials store there." His eyes lit up. "Shit, that's right, there was a Friggin' Chicken billboard on the turn-off, I remember it cause at the time it was advertisin' the new spicy variant, Bucket 'o Burnin' Butthole."

"Fuckin' 'ell, what a name."

He chuckled. "Heh. Yeah. Could go for some right now though. Anyway, I could find it again if we passed it, no problem."

"Unless there's any objections," Chelsea announced, "then let's roll."

Roll they did, heading north up the 283 without incident and turning left on the 67. They had to get off the road one time, to let the 'leather-sniffin' faggots', as Cindy called them, pass on their motorbikes, making enough noise to wake the dead, even those that weren't shambling around, but apart from that, everything was quiet. There was an occasional zombie on the piled-up roads, but they were all very easy to avoid. Joel talked to the others about his days at the Sheriff's department, what few there had been, while Cindy and Paul had an animated argument about cilantro, one calling it the best seasoning ever and the other equating it to dishwasher fluid. Chelsea didn't join in the discussion, but she felt that whether or not you liked the damn stuff, it didn't have to be in every god damn dish.

They took the turn-off and walked the rest of the way, a narrow asphalt road between the trees. Joel had been right, if you didn't know the Diamondback place was there, you probably wouldn't give the little strip of asphalt a second look.

Although some clearly had. Two people lay on the road, one male, one female, dressed in civilian clothing. The man had his torso and abdomen hacked open, the woman was missing the back of her head, her blonde hair red with blood and her jeans on her ankles. Tools lay strewn all around, spattered with blood. The argument over tools had turned violent, it would seem.

"They might still be close," Paul said. "Whoever did this. Stay alert, stick to the treeline."

"Hey but look," Cindy pointed out. "Bloody tracks, leadin' back to the road. I think they're gone."

"Mm," Joel said. "Must've been some infightin' or what?"

"Possibly," Chelsea thought. "Not certainly though."

"Definitely not certain enough to warrant carelessness," Paul told them. "Best get off the road and keep our eyes open."

There was no incident on the way, however, and they reached the Diamondback wholesale, in a clearing in the forest. A few zombies shambled over the parking lot, but they were spread far apart and mostly avoidable. The way to the place's presumed back entrance was clear.

"Go through the back?" Cindy said Chelsea's thoughts out loud.

"Be best, yeah," Paul agreed. "Chelsea?"

"I think so too."

They did as decided, following the treeline past the parking lot and towards the Diamondback store. It was a big place, with room for enough materials to build a skyscraper. It was simply impossible that everything had been looted. The infected shuffling over the hot asphalt ignored them. They reached the back of the store, a long featureless wall of white-painted bricks, with a single loading dock breaking the monotony. The only other feature was a reinforced dark grey door. Probably locked, but worth a try. As they crept closer, they saw it stood ajar. That could be good news or bad news.

"Might be someone in there," Chelsea heard Joel say behind her.

"Only one way to found out, yeah?" Chelsea said. "I'll go first, if my brains fly out my skull, you know there's someone there." She acted flippant about the whole thing, but she was still damn terrified.

Paul listened at the door, saying, "I don't hear anything, but that's no guarantee. They might've seen us coming. Be careful, Chelsea."

"No worries."

She felt his hand taking her wrist. "I mean it, Chelsea. Be careful. If they're lying in wait, they could – "

"I'll be fine." Her heart still warmed ever so slightly. Then she took a breath and stuck her head in the store. She didn't see anyone at first, just racks full of tools and materials. Jack-bleedin'-pot! She crept closer, trying to stay hidden behind the cash registers in case people were still here. There was no sound, no sign. It had to be safe, no reason to keep creeping around with her back bent. She stood up and scanned the store.

"Don't move. Don't you fucking move."

 _Oh shit_.

She turned her head and saw them, two people secure behind the cover of a large wooden crate. One didn't appear armed, the other had a crossbow aimed at Chelsea.

"Ey, listen, we're – "

"Shut it," the woman with the crossbow snapped. She was dressed curiously, in a white shirt and red tie. Not very feminine. Her short platinum blonde hair made her even weirder. "No sudden movements or your face gets a free piercing. What are you doing here?"

"We're uh, just lookin' for materials to reinforce – " she cut herself off. These people did _not_ have to know she came from a Shelter. Sure, they hadn't shot her on sight, so that meant they weren't crazed killers, but they might simply be killers of the more methodical variety.

The second girl, a more full-figured one, called to her, "Yeah, well, this is our place. We found it, you find your own place."

"I didn't say we wanted to stay. We just wanted to grab some stuff and leave. I mean, there's obviously far too much shite here for you two to ever use."

"Doesn't matter. It's our place, you leave."

"Look, I just want to – "

"Fuck you," the girl with the shirt snapped. "We gave you the chance to leave, now we're stakin' your body outside to warn others off." She raised her crossbow, but before she could release, a bang sounded and the crate she was hiding behind sent up splinters and wood chips.

"Don't try it," Paul said, holding the .357. "Crossbows are high on drama, but you better believe guns win out every day."

There was a brief moment that time stood still, but then the girl abruptly threw herself to the side and released. Chelsea managed to duck just in time for the bolt to cut the air above her and splinter against a sign. Paul fired again, but the girl had moved so quickly his shot, too, went wide.

Shit, didn't he only have two rounds?

"Get her!" he shouted, "before she can reload!"

Chelsea and Paul both lunged forward, Paul closing the distance between the crossbow-girl while Chelsea rushed the overweight chick, who took out a red-stained cricket bat. Paul body-slammed into the girl with the white shirt, bowling her over just before she could redraw the crossbow string. Chelsea faced the girl with the cricket bat, swinging her crowbar at her face. The other girl drew her head back and the swing met no resistance. Chelsea, in turn, ducked as the girl attacked, the cricket bat harmlessly glancing off her shoulder. There was a flash of red windbreaker and Cindy's body was suddenly on top of the other girl, riding her back and pummelling her head. The fat bird slammed her weight backwards and crushed Cindy's body between herself and the wooden crate, causing her hitchhiker to let go, the wind smacked from her. Chelsea swung again, her crowbar catching the woman in the side, the vibrations of cracking ribs throbbing into her hands. The next moment, the cricket bat slammed into Chelsea's jaw and all strength left her body, sending her falling to the ground, cracking her head on the linoleum floor. She saw blurred and double, but she could discern Cindy kicking the girl in the midriff, and then, as she bent double, grabbing her by the hair and smacking her head into the corner of the crate once, twice, three times, until blood spattered out and the big girl flopped to the ground.

"Oh geez, Chelsea!" Cindy's panicked voice came from far away. "Oh shit oh shit, are you alright? Say somethin'?"

Chelsea tried to move her mouth but her jaw was numb. "Puh… Puh… Paul."

"Yeah no, he's fine, Joel shot the other bitch. Just stay there for a sec, don't try to move, holy shit that was a terrifying whack."

It had been. Chelsea's previously numb face now slowly began to throb in pain, pulsing with every heartbeat, harder and harder. God she hoped her jaw wasn't broken. Her vision did improve though, first undoubling and then becoming sharp again. She felt around with her tongue and breathed a sigh of relief when she felt all her teeth still in place. Her jaw, too, felt mostly unbroken, though hurting like the pits.

"Sheet, that's gonna be a bruise tomorrow," Cindy breathed, gently touching Chelsea's face. "When I saw that bat hit you, I thought…" her voice trailed off. "Shit, Chelsea."

"Shit indeed," she slurred back, beginning the momentous effort of getting back to her feet. She wobbled on her feet for a moment, Cindy holding her hand for balance, then her eyes fell on the girl with the cricket bat. She was lying facedown in a pool of blood.

"I uh… think I broke her skull." Chelsea saw a shiver go through the girl. "I'm feelin' a bit sick."

"Don't," Chelsea said, "You saved our hides, yeah?"

"I guess. I… actually felt her skull crack when I…" she didn't finish her sentence, taking down her surgical mask for air.

"It's alright," Chelsea told her, putting an arm over her shoulder. "It was them or us."

Cindy shivered again and took old of Chelsea's hand with both of hers. "I've never… killed anyone before."

"No, me neither. But you didn't kill anyone, you saved someone, yeah? Focus on tha'."

This time she did smile at Chelsea. "True. You owe me a big one now, Chel."

She grinned back. "We did it together, you profiteer."

"Hey but…"

Chelsea saw it too. "She's still breathin'. Hey," she cheered, "you didn't kill anyone!"

"Whooh, that's a relief! She ain't comin' with us, though. I'm cool with bringin' in more people but I'm drawin' the line at homicidal maniacs."

"So am I, yeh."

Paul and Joel seemed alright, Joel explaining that he eventually decided not to risk the crazed girl injuring someone and to simply shoot her. She was dead alright, a hole punched in the side of her throat, above the collarbone, drenching her white shirt, her eyes staring at the wall.

Should've left it alone, girls.

"They chose their fate," Paul announced matter-of factly. He was right, of course, but still.

Fuck, her jaw throbbed. No zombies were forthcoming, it seemed the sound-proofing of this place was quite decent.

"Best tie this one up, at least while we search," Cindy said, holding out a length of electrical cable to whomever wanted to take it. Paul did, telling the others to start searching while he took care of this. When he turned her over, Chelsea saw a nasty dent in her forehead, bleeding and filled with wood splinters. Geez, Cindy had done a number on her.

Still, it had been a case of us or them. She joined the others in searching for interesting construction materials.

"Hey y'all," Joel called out, "here's somethin' we can use, come see."

They joined him in the raw materials aisle. He was right, there were eight 25kg bags of cement and over twenty bags of sand left. You could mix up a lot of mortar with those, although she wasn't sure what the proportions were.

"Heyyyy," Cindy whooped. "That's pretty darn spiffy. Eight bags, so that's… times three and a half, um…"

"Around twenty-eight," Joel helpfully informed her.

"Right, so we'd need twenty-eight bags of sand to make the proportions work. Might not be enough, but we'll go a long way."

Joel and Chelsea looked at her and she said, "What? I know how to mix mortar, that so weird?"

"For you?" Chelsea asked, "… yeah, kinda."

"Still need to find a way to transport 'em, though," Joel muttered, stroking his chin.

The pallet jack at the end of the aisle offered a solution for short distances. They first loaded a wooden pallet onto it, then threw the bags on there one by one. It wouldn't help to get them home, but it would be an easy way to move them outside to one of the vehicles they might possibly be able to twoc. Looting the store further offered loads of useful things. They also loaded two full tool cases, the big ones on wheels, onto the pallet (the Coyotes should have seen it!), along with some plastic pipes for sewer problems, mason's trowels, electrical wire, sundry stuff like screws and bits, various power tools (sadly many of those had already been looted, but a drill, screwdriver, buzzsaw, small jackhammer and small battery powered chainsaw still made for great loot), wooden planks of varied length and breadth, two small medical kits, some construction helmets, a box of heavy work gloves and all kinds of stoppers, joints and the like for gas pipes. You never knew.

The pallet jack stacked tower-high with junk, they could now work on finding a way to get the loot back to base. Surely there must be a vehicle that could be used. They might have to knock down a zombie for the keys, but that was usually pretty easily done. But when Paul came in, making a little whistle at the pile of loot, he announced that this particular problem was solved too.

Joel pushing the pallet jack outside via the loading dock, they returned to the parking lot and saw the prize Paul presented them with. A silver-grey pick-up truck stood prominently displayed at the front of the store. But still, as suitable as it was for transportation, wouldn't this make noise?

"I can see the face you're making, Chel," Paul said with a grin. "But you don't need to worry. This, dear lady, is an Atlis XT. Granted, it looks like something you're only allowed to drive if your penis length is below two inches, but we're not worried about looks right now. What we _are_ interested in, is that this is one of the very first fully electric pick-up trucks ever made."

That sounded fantastic. The damn thing could probably drive cross-country too, even though it looked like its primary reason for existing was more for showing off than actual performance. This was a find of one in a million. "Tha's the dog's bollocks, innit?"

"Is… that a good thing?" Paul asked.

"You fuckin' bet it is. Let's load 'er up!"

"An electric truck," Cindy mused. "In Texas. Surprised they haven't shot the owner for blasphemy yet."

"Let's hope the battery's still full though," Joel said, wheeling the pallet jack into position. "The uh, range on these things ain't exactly spectacular."

"This is the…" Paul bent sideways, looking at the truck's model number, "… three hundred miles version, sadly. And that's only if unloaded, and assuming the battery's full. Still, I assume we can get back to the Shelter with whatever's left." He looked around. "No charging station, though, must be from a shopper."

"I bet it's this guy," Cindy chuckled, pointing at a zombie in the parking lot with a T-shirt saying, _REAL MEN DRIVE PICK-UP TRUCKS._

"Possibly," Paul said, "but my money's on that guy." The 'that guy' in question was a dead man lying a ways further with a polo shirt saying _ATLIS PROMO TEAM_. He'd been torn up pretty badly, possibly having met his end by a group of shamblers.

"Yeah alright, alright," Cindy admitted. "No one likes a smart-ass."

Chelsea smiled at her, "Shite pick-up shirt bloke would definitely be my second choice though."

Joel let go of the pallet jack and walked over to the corpse, stooping to fish the keys out of his pocket. "Got 'em."

"Ey but," Chelsea said, "Fore we go, still summat we gotta do." She held up a finger, telling the others to wait for her while she scooted back inside and picked up the crossbow and cricket bat from the fallen psycho lezzers. Coming back out, she said, "We can probably use these, yeah? Who gets the crossbow?"

Cindy stuffed her hands in her pockets and said, in badly acted casualness, "Well, seeing as I'm the one most totally shit at close combat…?"

Chelsea grinned and passed her the crossbow. "It's yours, given by virtue of 'avin' the worst melee DPS."

She took it with a bounce. "Thanks, Chel, you're a peach."

"The bat, anyone?"

Everyone seemed fine with their current close combat weapon, so the cricket bat went in the pick-up, which was already half-loaded by the others while Chelsea had fetched the crossbow. The two women had also possessed a small stock of food, enough to last the both of them for two or three days, so not really much, but still) and some medicine, antibiotics among them. Only five doses, but every little bit counted. Chelsea had also taken their sleeping bags, because they wouldn't need them anymore. She'd told Chelsea the girl with the cracked skull would be fine, but she could tell from Paul's face when he took the rope that he thought the same thing she did, that it'd only be to leave Cindy with the idea that she hadn't killed anybody. She threw the sleeping bags on the truck, remarking, "they prob'ly stink of tribbin', but they'll do." She regretted it as soon as she'd said it, but thankfully Paul hadn't heard.

She'd left the polaroid selfie of them both smiling into the camera.

The bags of cement and sand loaded, the miscellanea began weighing down the pick-up truck. The heat was sweltering but spirits were high, even as they worked as quietly as possible to avoid alerting the damn zombies in the parking lot. Several more had shuffled onto the asphalt, probably emerging from the surrounding woods.

Cindy and Chelsea stood in the truck bed, taking the things Paul and Joel lifted up to them. First came the smaller things, to fill the gaps made by the sand and cement bags, then the power tools. Lastly, Joel handed her one of the tool cases, and with a grunt, she lifted it into the truck bed. Paul did the same for Cindy, but the weight was too much for her, and her hands slippery from sweat, she let the thing slide out of her hands, her eyes wide as it slowly overbalanced and fell off the truck bed, crashing down to the ground, all the metal tools flying out of it, clanging and banging on the asphalt.

All four heads whipped around and they saw the zombies, at least ten of them, looking in their direction.

"Shit, shit, shit," Cindy hissed. "We might be alright though. I mean, they might…"

But no, they didn't do what Cindy hoped they might do. They groaned and moaned into motion, coming straight for the truck.

"Fuck, fuck, fuck," Cindy whined. "I'm sorry, guys, I'm sorry!"

"Forget it, it happens," Paul snapped. "But we got to go, _now_."

Joel sprang forward, throwing himself into the driver's seat while Paul slammed the hatch of the truck up into the closed position. "Leave the rest, let's go." He hauled himself into the back of the truck.

Chelsea tried to find a handhold and secure her footing. "Guys, wait, I'm not – " Suddenly the truck lurched forward, bucked and stalled. Her footing unstable, Chelsea felt her weight being thrown to the side, and she overbalanced, thrown from the truck, her elbows connecting sharply with the asphalt.

" _Chelsea_!" she heard Cindy scream. The truck lurched forward again, this time not stalling and moving a good twenty metres, while Paul banged on the cabin, shouting at Joel to stop. As soon as Joel realized they'd lost someone, he hit the brakes and Paul shouted at Cindy to stay, leaping from the truck bed.

Chelsea tried to get back up, but a zombie was already close, throwing itself on its belly and crawling towards her, grabbing her ankles. Chelsea yelped and kicked it in the teeth, slowing it down momentarily but doing no real damage.

The corpse flopped forward, its weight pressing down on her stomach, its dead, rotting face snarling as its snapping mouth tried to tear her belly open. Chelsea punched it in the side of the face as hard as she could, deflecting the bite. Again, the putrid cadaver clawed forward, completely on top of her now, and all Chelsea could do was claw at its face, keeping the biting teeth at bay.

Her hands tried frantically to push the zombie's face away from hers, its rotting skin sliding under her hands.

Crushing, tearing pain exploded from her fingers as they got caught between the zombie's crooked, rotting teeth. She screamed as she felt the teeth crushing her finger bones, and shrieked even harder when she felt the tendons in her ring finger and little finger snap.

Both fingers stopped being a part of her.

She saw the zombie lunge at her again through blurring tears, but the weight suddenly came off her, the corpse thrown to the side and its skull stomped flat by Paul's boot. Hands hauled her up and dragged her towards the truck, her feet kicking to help but finding no purchase, scraping over the asphalt. Two more hands grabbed her and took her up into the truck bed, then she felt the pulling feeling of motion beneath her, the truck speeding off the parking lot.

Her fingers throbbed and she squeezed the tears from her eyes to see the extent of the horror. Her stomach contracted into a ball and her heart sank when she saw that her ring finger has been crushed off in the middle, and her little finger only had a single bone left. Her fingers, oh God her fingers were gone. She felt her breath speed up, making her dizzy.

"Easy, easy!" Paul's voice came. "Listen to my voice, Chelsea."

In the background, she could hear Cindy's voice, softly whining inarticulately.

"Chelsea. Chelsea, listen to me."

Her eyes snapped towards Paul's face.

"You're going to be alright, we'll take care of your injuries. Let me see."

She numbly held up her hand, holding the wrist with her other one. Blood ran from the mangled stumps. Cindy's whine picked up in intensity and volume.

"Shit," Paul muttered, shaking with the movement of the truck. "There's… not much I can do apart from stopping the bleeding." He fished for one of the medical kits in the truck bed. "This is going to hurt, Chel, but I'm right here with you, alright."

All Chelsea could do was think _my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers_

"I'm sorry, Chelsea," Cindy blubbed through her tears. "It's all my fault I'm so sorry please don't hate me I'm so sorry."

"It's no one's fault," Paul bit at her. "Snap out of it and help. Cindy. _Cindy!_ "

 _my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers_

All Cindy did was relapse into inarticulate whining. Paul grunted in frustration and let her be, slapping the roof of the truck cabin to get Joel to stop. He took out bandages and wrapped them around Chelsea's destroyed fingers. It hurt immensely, but Chelsea didn't feel it at all. Her fingers. Her fingers were gone. Oh God oh God oh God.

"She hurt bad?" Joel's voice came from the side of the truck.

 _my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers my fingers_

"She'll live," Paul grunted, finishing the bandages. "Chelsea? Say something?"

"Gh… bh… Muh… my f… fingers…"

"I know," he said. She could only see a bur of his face through the tears. Her fingers were gone, torn off by some rotting corpse and now all alone, stomped into the putrid remains of its face. There forever.

Paul fished in Chelsea's sports bag and squeezed something, making a crackling noise.

"Wh… what's tha'?," she asked, wiping her tears with her good hand.

He sighed. "It's antibiotics, Chelsea."

Oh God. He was right. The bite. It wasn't just her fingers. It was… oh no no no no no.

"Am I… infected? Paul, please. Say I'm not infected. Please, say it. Say I'm not infected. Please."

"I can't." he could only respond. "Renee will have to confirm it, but… It's not looking good."

Cindy sat in the truck bed, rocking back and forth, completely falling apart.

Chelsea's coherent thoughts were slowly coming back, the panic fading, being replaced by a cold, oily feeling of despair in her gut. Still, she said, "Cindy… Cindy?"

The girl stopped moaning and looked at her, her eyes wet with tears. "Che… Chelsea, I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. I never meant to – "

"I know," Chelsea said, still sobbing. "I know you didn't do it on purpose."

"I mean, I'd never ever…" Cindy blurted, pressing her wrists against her eyes. "Hnnnnnnn."

"Cindy," Paul interjected. "I need you to stop falling apart and help me take care of Chelsea. Can you do that?"

"You should leave me," she sobbed. "I should get off the truck and let you go on without me screwing everything up."

"Cindy," Chelsea rasped. "I'm not mad at you. None of us are. Summat just… happened. Could've 'appened to anybody." Her fingers hurt so fucking much.

"She's right," Paul said, "And I mean, if the girl with the missing fingers says it's alright, then trust me, _it's alright_."

"I'm… _so sorry_ , Chelsea."

"I know y'are," Chelsea said through the pain. "But don't you dare get off this truck, yeh? You're our friend and you're stayin' 'ere."

"Y… you sure?"

"Yeh I'm sure, now knock it on the 'ead with your self-pity." She held out her good arm. "Come 'ere."

Joel started the truck again, and they drove off, Chelsea's arm wrapped around Cindy's shoulders. Incredible. She'd lost two fingers and was probably infected with the fucking god damn zombie virus, and _she_ was the one consoling the one who caused it by dropping the damn tool case. Her stomach felt like a knot of oily rubber.

"We've got enough antibiotics," Paul assured her. "And we can find more. Chelsea, I swear, we'll get you all the antibiotics you need even if we die getting them. Right Cindy?"

Cindy wiped her tears. "M-hm."

"Don't beat yourself up," he told her, "focus on what you _can_ do. For now, that means keeping it together so we can get home safe." He turned back to Chelsea. "When we're back, we'll get that disinfected, give you something for the pain and help you sleep. That alright?"

No, it wasn't alright, nothing was alright anymore, but she still nodded. God how quickly this had all turned to shite. The fingers were horrible, but nothing compared to what the bite may have done.

"I'm such a fuck-up," Cindy groaned. "I'm really sorry, Chelsea."

"Yeh, I kno', you said tha' already. It could've 'appened to anybody, an' if I 'and't been stupid enough to fall out the truck, I wouldn't've been injured, yeah?"

"I'll do anything to make it right, okay? Just let me know what you need and I'll do it. Even if it means, well… you know."

"Only thing I want you to do," Chelsea said quietly as a wave of fatigue washed over her, "is to stop kickin' yourself in the 'ead over this an' just… put it behind you. Look to the future." She felt her eyes fall closed.

"You're right, I've done enough damage without draggin' you guys down with my complainin'. But I mean it though, from now on I'm in your debt for like, eternity."

"That's… fine…" Chelsea could feel herself drifting off, slumping against Cindy as her senses faded. "Could… use someone… to rub feet… after long… d…"

The world shrunk to the throbbing in her fingers before that fell away too.

She was jerked awake by a loud thump and a jarring shock. She was in the truck bed, alone with Cindy. The world stood at an odd angle. As she blinked against the light, the pain in her fingers returned. She heard two car doors open and slam closed.

"Shit, figures." Joel's voice.

"No way we can get it out." Paul's voice. "We'll have to do the rest manually, use the shopping cart back at the Shelter. Do it in pieces."

"Yeah. Sucks, but no way I could've avoided it."

"I know, it was impossible to see. Battery was two minutes to dead anyway."

"We got stuck in a ditch," Cindy explained, yawning. "We're only, like, five hundred metres from the school, seems. They tried to go around these two wrecks, but," she craned her neck, "was a ditch they couldn't see. Overgrown." She yawned again. "How're you feelin'?"

"Like a zombie just bit off two of my fingers," she said back, rubbing the sand from her eyes.

"You alright back there?" Paul asked.

Cindy said back, "Yeah, we're good."

"Chelsea? Think you can walk the rest of the way?"

"Yeh, 'less you want me to walk on my 'ands. You'll forgive me for not carryin' owt in my left hand though."

"Don't worry 'bout that," Cindy said. "I'll carry double for both of us, kay?"

"I won't stop you," Chelsea only said, getting herself up and out of the truck bed. Her fingers pounded with pain, but it was manageable. She was looking forward to a fat dose of painkillers and some sleep, that much was certain. Shower, too. She picked up the drill case, slung her bag over her shoulder, and nothing more. Cindy, on the other hand, loaded up like a pack mule, carrying two power tool cases, the medikits, the crossbow on her back, and a heavy sack full of screws and plugs. She was already sweating and hadn't even made two steps.

Joel and Paul all took what they could carry too, leaving the larger materials in the truck for now. Someone would have to haul all the shite back with the trolley later. Not Chelsea, that much was certain.

The walk back was short, but not pleasant. Chelsea felt herself fighting off sleep with every step, with only the throbbing in her hand to keep her company. Everyone had fallen silent, concentrated on the hauling job. It was only half a kilometre, but it was the longest five hundred metres she'd ever walked.

They were greeted by the grim face of Bud the soldier, his rifle resting on his shoulder. He silently watched them enter and resumed his patrol. Anita was inside, drinking a glass of lemonade. When she noticed them, she stood up and let out a sigh of relief. "Always great to see you guys come back in one piece."

Chelsea held up her hand, swaddled in red bandages. "In several pieces this time. Can you get Renee?"

"Oh!" Anita's face turned a paler shade. "Oh, my. Yes, of course, what happened?"

"Chomper zombie."

Anita rose and went to get Renee, breathing, "Oh sweetheart, that's horrible."

"Yeh."

When Renee came, they sat down in the refectory for a decent medical examination. Well, as decent as could be when given by a veterinarian. Chelsea could tell Renee was doing her best to appear unmoved, but she, too, was more than a bit impressed by the brutality. Chelsea's fingers were massacred. The little finger was only a short, red, angry stump with white bone jutting from it, and the ring finger had fared little better, reduced to half its length and ending, too, in a stump that looked like raw, red hamburger with gristle.

"Okay, um…" Renee began after taking a long, good look at the damage. "This is uh… obviously permanent."

"Yeh, ta for pointin' tha' out," Chelsea chuckled through the pain.

"… Sorry. Um, I'll give it a good clean and disinfect it. Bandage it the way it's supposed to be, because Paul's battlefield medicine is only useful for the short term." She carefully spread Chelsea's damaged fingers, looking between them. "I don't know if there's anything more I can do apart from that. Although…" she inspected the wounds a bit more closely. "There _seems_ to be enough skin left for… but that's only if you can handle it. Don't want you passing out in the cafeteria."

"For wha'?" Chelsea asked.

"I can probably suture the remaining skin somewhat together, will help with the bleeding, and the healing and pain in the long term."

She didn't look forward to it at all, but if there was a chance this might heal more quickly, she had to take it. "Get your sowin' kit out then."

Renee's eyes went up to her. "You sure?"

"Gettin' less sure every minute, so best not waste time, yeah?"

Renee nodded. "Mom? _Mooom_?"

Anita stuck her head in. "Yes, honey?"

"Can you get my medical bag, it's in the basement?"

"Of course."

"While we wait, um… there's another matter I need to talk to you about." She shifted in her seat, her eyes downcast.

"I know," Chelsea spared her the difficulty. "I'm infected, right?"

Renee sighed. "I can't tell for sure without a blood analysis, which is why I've gathered some, there'll probably be a microscope or something in the chemistry lab, but yes. There's… a good chance."

"Well," Chelsea said, trying to sound cheerful even though her gut was still a cramped brick, "I've already taken my antibiotics for the day, good habits are best started early, innit?"

She got a chuckle out of Renee. "Yes. Yes, I suppose they are."

Anita arrived with the medical bag, her face firmly in concerned-mother-figure mode. "Aw, hun. I'm so sorry. How are you feeling?"

She gave the same answer she'd given Cindy, only less snide this time, "Like a zombie just bit off two of my fingers."

Meanwhile, Renee rifled through her medical bag. "These are animal suture kits but uh, I'm sure they'll work fine on humans too. After all, we're kind of animals too, aren't we?"

"Yeh. Sometimes even worse than tha'."

Cindy came in too, approaching gingerly. "Is… is there anything you need, Chel?"

"Y'know wha'?" she replied. "Yeah, there is summat. If we've got owt in the way of strong alcohol, I could use a throat-burner."

"I'll check."

She disappeared in the doorway and was replaced by someone else. The obnoxious blond guy with the antiquated glasses. Ugh, no. Still, maybe they'd gotten off on the wrong foot in the morning and he wanted to show concern, so she didn't tell him to fuck off right away. "Wow," he commented in his nasal voice, craning his neck to look over Renee's shoulder. "That must hurt."

"Just a little."

His fingers danced around in the direction of her fingers. "Aren't you supposed to amputate the rest, have a clean wound?"

Renee frowned. " _No_ , you're not supposed to 'amputate the rest'. No point doing more damage."

Chelsea had to suppress a grin despite her pain and fear for the impending treatment.

"Good news is that there's enough loose skin on both fingers to sew it all up. No need to shorten bones or remove damaged tissue." She turned Chelsea's hand over. "I can just stitch it up without too much risk. I think."

"Do it then," Chelsea said.

"Right. I'm disinfecting it first though, this will sting."

"You know," the no-longer-comatose dude offered as advice, "Apparently lately most doctors recommend using plain water to clean wounds, not disinfectant. Y'know, because it also kills the good – "

"I prefer using water too," Renee grunted as she frowned at Chelsea's wounds. "But in the case of animal bites or claw wounds, you need to be more aggressive. And I _might_ not be entirely unjustified in thinking this goes double for things like _zombie bites_."

"Mmyeah," he mused. "I guess I can understand that reasoning."

"Oh _good_."

Chelsea offered her a patient smile.

"Right, stand by for disinfectant and debridement. Need to remove dead tissue and contaminants. Need something to bite on?"

"Fuck it, just pour it on meh," Chelsea simply said.

For a short moment, the already burning pain in her hand flashed to a searing, boiling level of agony while Renee applied the antiseptic and scratched away various bits of unwelcome matter, before slowly returning to its previous level, Chelsea managing to make no more noise than a stifled grunt.

"Can't you reattach the pieces?" the blond guy asked. "You can, you know, it's a fairly common procedure."

"Yes, I might be able to if you're willing to travel a few dozen miles and fight a few dozen zombies to pry the bits out of a putrid zombie mouth _now be quiet_ ," Renee snapped. "Unless you have a medical background, let me work without pointless input."

The guy raised his hands defensively. "Whoa, whoa, just trying to help."

"Yeah, don't. In fact, you shouldn't even be here."

"Well! _Excuse me_ for caring. I'll be going then, let none say Doug Schultz doesn't realize when he's not welcome." He waltzed out, laying on the innocence-abused act as heavily as he dared.

"I'm sorry you had to watch this buffoonery while you're in so much pain," Renee simply said as Cindy came back in with a bottle of what looked like cheap vodka.

"Hey Chel, um, Davis found this a while ago when he busted open the lockers. Said he wanted to keep it for a special occasion but yeah, this takes priority."

"A busted locker," Anita shook her head. "The things kids bring to school these days."

"Gotta make it fun somehow," Chelsea said, trying to ignore the tension ache in her belly. "Let's 'ave some."

She wasted no time pouring a few mouthfuls down her gullet. It burned like satan's hot piss, but at least it would relax her somewhat.

"Not too much," Renee cautioned. "I need you in a fit state. Have some more after we're done if you want, but try not to overdo it."

"Yeh, sure. Alreet, let's go."

Despite her earlier trepidation, the stitching hurt surprisingly little. Probably because the pain was already so intense that her body didn't really bother registering the pathetic little stings that joined in. "You're doing great, Chel," Renee muttered as she finished the first finger, stitching the ragged flaps of flesh closed. She then folded the torn skin over the second weeping horror and closed that up too. It hurt, but it was a walk in the park compared to the actual injuries.

"There we go, all stitched up. Just need to bandage it and keep an eye on it."

"Uh huh," she said, wiping the sweat from her brow. "Anythin' in particular I need to watch out for?"

"I'll check periodically myself, but yes, if you notice extreme redness or any other discoloration, abnormal heat, pus, red streaks, swelling or stinky boo boos, come get me." She finished the bandages and sighed. "That's done." Without another word, she took the bottle of vodka and glugged down a mouthful herself. "Phwah. Needed that." She rose. "You've been a trooper, Chel, seriously. You were badass."

"Ta, Renee, you weren't so bad yerself."

"One more thing. You're not going anywhere tomorrow."

" _Aww_ , Renee."

"No. Seriously, you need to recover. You can do some light work around here, but that's it. And if I can say something personal?"

"Sure, yeh."

"You've been pushing yourself like crazy, going out there every day. I know people see you as, you know, 'the leader', but that doesn't mean you have to set the example every single day. It doesn't give them the right to expect you to do the heavy lifting, all the time."

She had a point, but really, if she wasn't out there, what good was she? "Salright, Renee. I know wha' you mean, yeah, bu' I also go out there because it makes me feel useful. I don't have a lot of skills apart from bein' stupid enough to go out every day."

"I'm sure you're selling yourself short."

"Don't think so, actualleh."

Renee rose and put a hand on her shoulder. "Well, today, you're staying in. Doctor's orders. Well, vet's orders. If anyone has even the least bit of criticism, they can take it up with me. Alright?"

There was no arguing with her, and furthermore, Chelsea knew she was right. It'd be mental to go out now, with these injuries. She'd need a day of rest or she'd just break down into pieces sooner or later. "Yeah, alreet. But I'm going to do summat useful, not just lounge."

"As you wish," Renee said, walking away, "but like I said, light stuff. If I see you hauling cement bags, you're having cement for dinner, got it?"

"Yes madam. Hey uh, can I take a shower with this?" She held up her bandaged hand.

"You can," Renee said before she disappeared in the doorway, "but take off the bandages before you do, try to keep it dry, and _no soap_."

"Alright cheers."

She got up too, taking a look at the job board. Not scavenging tomorrow would be a bad idea. They needed to keep their food supply up, and every day not scavenging was another day that other groups might swoop in and nab stuff. They'd have to go without her, it'd be unfortunate, but Renee was right. The others shouldn't count on her every single day.

She sighed and uncapped the whiteboard marker, holding it in her right hand. At least the fingers had been taken off her left. Thank Heaven for small favours.

What to write next to her own name? 'Rest' would be so… indulgent. But she couldn't write 'hauling materials' either, even though she secretly planned on it. Maybe something in between. Wait, she had an idea.

 _Chelsea Jayne – help Renee_

 _Renee Cass – zone infirmary_

 _Anita Cass – haul materials_

 _Joel Oswalt – patrol fence_

 _Elaine Martin - cleaning_

 _Davis Cray – radio / maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen – scav_

 _Paul Rainier – scav_

 _Bud Larsen – scav_

 _Doug ? – scav_

She kinda regretted saddling Cindy and Paul with shitty Doug and surly Bud, but everyone had to pitch in. She felt better leaving Joel at home for the time being, as his strength lay more in home security than in outside adventure. To give a positive spin on it. Elaine could spend the day cleaning the place, it was starting to look rather dishevelled. The showers and toilets especially were in an unsightly state. And with Renee now recovered, for the most part, it was time to think on where to place an infirmary, and to lay the groundwork. They had no real beds, yet, but they could already zone the place and provide the necessary infrastructure. She'd noticed some drywall and metal studs in the basement, probably leftovers from a previous building project, and they'd be able to use that to create something resembling a sick bay. They'd need one, and this was one of the things better started before the need actually arose. With the stuff Anita would bring in during the day, they'd be able to get some work done. Chelsea didn't really know how to put up drywall, but she'd seen a few DIY books in the library, so she already knew how she'd spend her evening. Anything to avoid having to sit alone with her thoughts and her despair. She'd have to keep busy.

First, a shower though. She grabbed her towel and sponge bag and headed for the locker room. As she stood in the shower, she noticed hair in the sinkhole and soap residue on the tiles. Yep, the place needed a clean.

She showered as well as she could, taking care to keep her left hand out of the water jets and even succeeding for the most part.

Elaine came in when she was getting dressed. "Hey Chelsea. Sorry I didn't come to meet you sooner, I heard. Are you… alright?"

"Yeh," she lied. "It's not tha' big a deal. Just fingers. Got eight more. An' as long as we've got antibiotics, I'm safe."

She smiled. "You don't have to pretend. Is there anything I can do?"

"Na, 's all good. I'm a bit scared for th' future, bu' I'm not facin' it alone at least. An' I knew, deep down, tha' it was only a matter of time 'fore someone got infected. Just 'and't thought it'd be me." She felt tears welling up in her eyes.

Elaine sat down next to her and put an arm on her shoulder. "Aw, Chelsea. But you're right, you're not facing it alone. But hey, our antibiotics stock should be good for a while right?"

"Yeh. For a while."

"There'll be more. We're right here with you. If you want to talk…?"

She shrugged. "Nowt to say, is there? I caught the infection, tha's the way it is. No changin' tha'. I'll be alreet, don't worry."

"Okay." She rose and unbuttoned her vest. "Just know I'm here for you."

"Thanks."

"I'm going to take a shower now, that alright?"

Chelsea rolled her eyes. "Elaine, you don't 'ave to ask me if you can take a shower. It's fine, really."

"I just meant, I don't want you to think I'm bailing or anything."

"It's _fine_. Really."

Chelsea finished getting dressed and left Elaine to her shower. When she came out, the blond guy, Doug, stood waiting for her with a frown on his face.

"It's _Schultz_."

"Ha?"

"My name," he said. "Doug Schultz. Not 'Doug question-mark'."

Fuck's sake, was this really what mattered to this bloke right now? She flapped her hand. "Wha'ever, I'll change the job board in a bit."

"No need, I already changed it for you."

Okay, that really merited some response. "Ey mate, I don't know if anyone's explained things abou' the job board yet, but the idea is that I'm the only one who actually _writes_ on it."

He blew. "Why, because you're the boss and no one gets to have any say?"

" _No_ , because if people start changin' things on their own, they'll be givin' themselves jobs willy-nilly."

"Oh please. All I did was add my last name."

She supposed he had a point, but it was a principle thing. "Yeh, I know, an' you probably did it to do good, but it's best if you don't go around changin' things on your own, yeh? Not 'cause I'm like, _the boss_ or owt, bu' because people're gonna start 'avin' arguments an' bickerin' an' changin' things behind each other's backs."

"You say you're not the boss," he nudged his chin at her dismissively. "So who is? Do you even have competent leadership here?"

She sure as Hell hoped he wasn't going to present himself as such. "We don't 'ave leadership as such, no. I'm more, uh… coordinatin' things than leadin'."

"Well, then maybe someone should take charge."

On ho. Oh, no, no, no. Oh, no, no, no, no, no. This dude was _not_ going to run things. Not while she still drew breath. "Mate, I can 'ear you comin' from a mile away, an' the answer is _no_. You've only just woken up, an' unless you were like, a CEO or a general in your past life – _which I doubt_ – you don't just get to decide you're going to take charge, tha's not 'ow it works, d'you kno' wha' I mean like?"

He stuffed his hands in his pockets. "I was merely suggesting. And I think you're underestimating me."

She was pretty sure she wasn't, but she couldn't tell him that. Not yet at least. "Yeh, I might be, bu' without knowin' you, there's no way to know, is there?"

"Hmph. Anyway, by saying _your_ answer is no, you're saying you _are_ the de facto boss."

She shrugged. "Maybe. I don't even rightly know, m'self. Wha' if I was?"

"Then maybe some day we can put that to a vote."

She snorted. "You go right on ahead, mate. If the others think you'd do better, then I'll gladly let you be in charge. Until then, though…"

"Yes, yes," he went in his nasal voice. "So I see you've written me up for scavenging duty tomorrow?"

"Tha' I 'ave."

"The people going out with me… do they have military experience? Are they going to be able to keep up?"

She just could pass this one up. "Nah mate, they're just bankers an' accountants, like. Regular joes, like you Americans would say."

"Yes, well. I hope they'll pull their weight. Personally, I'm proficient with edged weapons and firearms, capable at close- and long-range combat." She doubted it very much from the looks of him. "As well as all kinds of digital weaponry. Hacking has no secrets for me."

She kept it up, quite enjoying the prospect of this pompous git being knocked down a few pegs when he'd inevitably try to make an impression on Paul and Bud. "Yeh, I'm sure you'll be able to teach the others a thing or two."

"You're staying in, right? Because of your…" he looked down his nose at her hand, "… injuries."

"Yeh, I am. I've been goin' out there every day already while you were nappin', mate, before you get the wrong impression."

"No, no. It's fine." He put his hands behind his back and walked off.

Git.

Shaking off the unpleasant experience of interacting with the self-inflated windbag, she went to the library and let her finger slide over the backs of the non-fiction books. Most were more academically-oriented ones, biology, philosophy, maths, all that school-course shite, but she did find two dated but useful books on DIYing.

Cracking open a can of cola (it tasted horrible here in the States with their disgusting high-fructose corn syrup) she sat down, put her feet up and read. First about drywall, then out of a general interest, about bricklaying and flooring, because why not.

A bit later, Elaine came to join her, selecting a detective novel, saying she needed to keep her mind occupied, especially during evenings, those were the worst. They exchanged words a few times while they read, and the evening itself was quite pleasant, despite her dread at the knowledge that Doug might come in any second to moan more. He didn't, and they just sat reading together, interspersed with a chat here and there.

As her eyelids began to pull themselves downwards, she stood up, reshelved the books, said goodnight to a yawning Elaine, and headed to bed, hoping the throbbing in her hand wouldn't keep her out of her sleep.


	8. Day 7 - Sick Day

**.**

* * *

 **DAY SEVEN**

 **Sick Day**

* * *

It had been a rough night. Her fingers had throbbed relentlessly, and even after going down for an ibuprofen in the middle of the night, the pain had still kept her up. And even worse than the pain was the constant milling in her head. She just couldn't get her brain to shup up, it kept wondering, worrying, fretting, calculating odds, looking for some magical realization that would put her at ease by assuring her she wasn't infected.

It hadn't come, of course. It never did.

In the end, out of pure misery, she'd gotten oot 'er scratcha and taken a seat in the cafeteria, with a tepid cup of coffee in front of her, barely touched. What if she was infected? How would it go from there? Antibiotics weren't forever. If she needed one dose every day, it was impossible they'd find enough, especially given that no new ones were being made and the existing batches would expire at some point. Was it a death sentence? Or worse?

Her mind already envisioned scenarios where she sat herself down on the ground, leaning against the wall, and asked her friends to shoot her in the head. God dammit. She didn't want it to end like this. It wasn't right. God dammit. She'd have to plan ahead, make sure they scavenged enough antibiotics while they were still active. And available. Because everyone and his brother would be looking for them. Fucking Hell.

Cindy might know a few more places. Or Joel, maybe. Davis? Possibly. But unless –

She was startled from her desperation by the sound of metal banging on metal.

What the… it came from outside. Shit, was it intruders? Zombies?

She grabbed the crowbar she'd left leaning against the refectory door and carefully went to check. She'd call for help at the first sign of trouble, that much was certain.

"Chelsea?" a hissing voice came from behind her.

She turned and saw Elaine at the top of the stairs, in her panties and night top, holding her 2x4.

"You 'eard it too?" She waited for Elaine to come down.

"Yeah. I couldn't sleep… what is it?"

"I dunno. We gotta check, right?"

"… Yeah."

Together, they went to the front doors, looking out through the glass, Chelsea's heart pounding, her fingers sweaty around the metal of the crowbar. "I… I don't see owt," she whispered.

"Me neith – wait," Elaine hissed. "There! It's a person!"

Chelsea squinted into the darkness and saw, indeed, the barely perceptible outline of a humanoid form in the darkness. Something glinted in the faint light of the moon, a brief flicker of light before every bang. The noise wasn't loud, just… creepy. Regular. Like someone was doing it to scare people, or draw attention.

"We… shouldn't go out there," Elaine whispered. "What if it's zombies, or some psycho? What if there's more of them?"

"Yeh but if we just stay 'ere, we might make it worse."

"Look at this guy, Chelsea! This is like, classic horror movie shit."

"Okay, okay. Uh… go get Paul. And, and, uh, that Bud bloke as well. I'll stand watch."

Elaine looked back at the stairs and then through the glass door again. "I can't leave you here! What if – "

"Go. Hurry. I'll be fine. I don't think 'e can see me. Go."

Elaine's eyes went back and forth between the stairs and the door a few more times, but eventually she whispered, "…Okay. But be careful."

"I will. Go."

She heard Elaine's bare feet patter over the floor, and doubted her decision right away. What if he came inside? She was alone now, by the time the others were downstairs, she might be butchered.

The figure still stood there, in the dark, the metal object he was holding making soft, rhythmical bangs on the steel gate. Elaine was right, this was classic horror movie shit. She felt her stomach tightening in a molten knot.

Her eyes were adapting to the dark now, and she could make out the form, illuminated only by the moon, the trees making ghostly shadows dance over it. It was a human being, probably male. She peered intently and saw what he was holding. The metal thing that had produced the glints, what he'd been banging against the gate was the head of an axe. Her belly knotted even harder.

She felt that every moment, he could come through the gate, lunge at her and bury the head of his axe in her bowels, pulling it back out as her guts vomited out of her belly onto the floor.

But he didn't. He only stood there. Banging the head of his axe against the gate. Somehow it was more terrifying this way. She felt tears in her eyes as she blinked. What the fuck was going on. Why was this person even here? Doing this?

"Hey Chel, what's going on?"

Paul's voice suddenly sounded behind her ear, sending a sudden heatwave of relief over her, so intense, it nearly made her bladder let go. "Oh thank God," she breathed, turning towards him. "This… this whoever-the-fuck 'e is, has been bangin' the head of his axe against the gate for minutes now."

Paul peered out at the darkness. "He violent?"

"No. N-not yet. But… I mean, this is fuckin' terrifyin'."

"Mmyeah, imagine it is." He frowned, trying to analyse what he was seeing.

The head of the axe still banged against the gate.

Elaine also materialized next to her, still in her underwear. A few seconds later, the old soldier nudged her out of the way. "What's all this?"

"Some kind of intruder," Chelsea whispered. "Well. E's not intrudin', just… tryin' to scare us to death."

"Mmm."

"Let's go see what this is about," Paul said, checking to make sure Bud still held his rifle.

"Wait, wait," Elaine breathed. "It might be a trap! To lure us out."

"Maybe," Paul said, "but if there's more of them, they'll come in anyway. Better to engage on our own terms. Bud, you covering me?"

The stern-faced soldier nodded. "You got it."

"I'm comin' too," Chelsea said, even though she just wanted to stay inside and roll herself into a ball in her sleeping bag. She had to show she wasn't afraid, even though she was.

"Alright," Paul said. "We should fan out, make sure we're not clumped together, makes us easy targets."

"I'm… I'm… I'm coming too," Elaine said, gripping her 2x4. "I won't be a coward anymore."

"You sure?" Paul asked.

She only nodded, trying not to show her terror on her face.

"Alright, you on left, Chel, Elaine, you're on right. Whatever you do, make sure Bud has a clear shot at all times."

Elaine panted in fear, and Chelsea's breath, too came uncontrollably fast. Still, she wasn't going to chicken out. Paul's confidence had a tranquillizing effect on her. Just as panic was contagious, so was calm. She felt there was something she still needed to say in case things… went bad, but didn't know exactly what it was.

"Let's go." Paul pushed the door open and immediately stepped to the side, giving Bud a clear line of fire. This was why it was good to have a soldier among them. They knew exactly how to approach these situations. "Hey. Buddy," Paul called out, just loud enough so the man could hear. "What's the big idea?"

The man said nothing, just kept banging his axe. Chelsea expected savages to leap out of the darkness at any moment to rape and butcher them, but none came.

Paul approached, slowly but steadily. "You alright, man?"

As they came closer, Chelsea noticed that the man was spattered with blood, his white shirt and denim trousers stained red. He had blond hair, standing up in all directions, also flecked with blood. His face was rigid and wild, fixed in unrelenting tension, yet his eyes looked vacant.

The axe head kept banging on the gate.

They were closer now, Paul almost in arm's reach. Chelsea could do nothing but be ready and pray the man didn't suddenly chop Paul's skull in two.

Slowly, Paul extended his arm towards the axe man. "Hey buddy, come on. Why don't you lower the axe and we'll talk, alright?"

The man's eyes didn't even seem to register them. Chelsea risked a quick look at Bud and saw he was still keeping the rifle firmly trained on the creepy bastard.

Paul's fingers came closer to the man's shoulder. Closer. Ever closer.

Chelsea gripped her crowbar even more tightly as Paul's fingertips made contact with the man's shirt.

For one brief moment, nothing happened. Then suddenly, like a coiled spring, the man jumped, his axe shooting upwards. Paul recoiled, but the weapon didn't come down. The man just stood there, his face contorted into a grimace of fury and terror, the axe raised above his head.

Then, just as abruptly, the man's arms flopped to his side and the axe dropped down into the grass. The rest of him followed right after, the eyes rolling away as the man fell, collapsing next to his weapon.

"Chelsea," Paul said, his voice hoarse and his eyes fixed on the body on the other side of the gate.

"… Yeh?"

"Keep an eye on him. Elaine?"

"… Y-Yes?"

"Go get some rope."

"Uh-uh-uh huh." She scooted off again while Paul and Chelsea stayed, watching the prone man for any signs of movement.

Bud had also approached, his rifle still trained on the man. "What do you make of this, Ranger?"

"I'm not sure," Paul said. "I've seen this kind of thing before, usually guys who'd been heavily traumatized, they were in some kind of… daze… which kept them going as long as they kept fighting, and once the threat was gone, they'd… go lethargic, even collapse."

"M-hm," the old man nodded. "Seen the same back in 'Nam." He added, "Although I've also seen this behaviour in men that left us no choice but to put them down like rabid dogs."

"Yeah," Paul breathed. "So have I. We'll see."

Elaine came back, holding a length of rope out to Paul.

"Thanks," he said, taking the rope and telling Chelsea and Bud to, "Keep a close eye on him. He makes any movement, well… only do nothing if you truly hate me."

Chelsea licked her lips and nodded.

Paul kneeled down next to the fallen man. "Oh and Elaine?"

"… Yes?"

"You can go put some clothes on now."

"R-right, yeah."

Paul turned the man over, set his knee on the back of his neck, and deftly tied his hands together behind his back. There was no reaction apart from a few faded groans. When he was done, Renee, Anita, Cindy and Joel had also been roused by the commotion.

"Miss Renee," Paul said, taking his knee off the man's back, "Can you check this man for injuries?"

"Uh, yes, of course, what happened?"

"I'll tell you on the way."

Cindy let her eyes flit across the members of the group. "Y'all okay?"

"Yeah, fine," Chelsea responded. "This was some terrifyin' shite though. He just stood there, bangin' his axe against the gate. Fuckin' creepy."

"Chelsea?" Renee asked, "You might want to come along. I mean, unless you need a moment to…"

"No, 'salright, I'm comin'."

She followed Paul and Renee as they hauled the half-conscious man to the refectory. When they arrived, they lifted him onto a table, and Paul tied his wrists and ankles to the table legs. "Best to be sure."

"Yeah." Renee stripped him to his underwear and performed an examination as well as she could, prodding his body here and there, listening to his heartbeat and breathing, and feeling his bones wherever she could. "No real injuries," she concluded. "Just superficial stuff. Some grazes, cuts, bruises. Nothing major. No scratch or bite marks. No signs of infection, only of extreme fatigue." She was quiet for a while. "I can't speak for the psychological damage though."

"We'll 'ave to see 'bout tha' when 'e wakes up, right?" Chelsea asked.

"Mhm." She looked at his hands and said, "Geez. His palms and the inside of his fingers are… well, look." Chelsea looked and saw the entire insides of the man's hands covered in blisters, almost all of them burst into weeping wounds.

Meanwhile, Davis wheeled into the refectory. "Anita filled me in. Everyone alright?"

"Yeh, we're good. Got a massive scare, though."

"I'll bet."

"He was walkin' 'round in a daze, like sleepwalkin'?"

Paul nodded. "Might've been."

"… Holdin' an axe, bangin' it against the gate. Covered in blood. Lookin' proper micey."

"In the middle of the night." He whistled between his teeth. "You've got guts, going out there."

Chelsea had to admit that yes, she did. They did.

"We need a night watch, though, Chelsea," Paul told her. "The next visit might be about more than just scares."

She nodded, she'd thought the same thing as she lay in bed that night. "Yeh. I'm thinkin', when I've recovered, I'll ask Bud to keep watch at night. He looks like 'e'll enjoy the solitude."

"M-hm. Don't be in too much of a hurry to go back out there, alright? Your fingers… you need to take it easy."

"I'll take it easy when I'm dead," she winked at him. "Don't worry 'bout me, I'm alreet."

"You know best… but I mean it, pace yourself, alright?"

Davis and Renee agreed, "Listen to the man." "He's right, Chel."

"I will." It was nice to feel that people were concerned about her. It made her feel a bit less miserable… but only briefly. She tried not to think of her injuries and infection. "Any idea when 'e'll wake up?"

Renee shook her head. "None whatsoever. Could be in a minute, could be in an hour, could be in a day."

"I don't expect him to be out for long," Paul said. "People in this state don't sleep, they just collapse."

"We should keep him under guard," Davis advised. "I'll stay here for a while. Nothing on the radio anyway." He yawned. "What time is it, even?"

"Uh…" Renee checked her wrist watch. "Four thirty."

"First thing I'm going to do when this guy wakes up is tell him to come banging on the gate at a human hour."

"Tell him from me too," Paul said, walking out of the refectory. "I'm going to catch an hour or two more of sleep. You should do the same, Chel."

"Yeh, I'll close my eyes for a bit too." She knew there was no chance of sleeping, but the release of adrenaline was causing her headaches and sore muscles, so best to lie down for a bit as well. She went back up to her room after making sure Renee and the others would be alright and let herself fall on her improvised bed.

When she opened her eyes again, it was light out. Huh, she must've slept for an hour or two. Anything was better than nothing. Her fingers still pounded in pain, but at least her headache was less. Her mouth tasted like the inside of a motorman's glove. Fucking hell. She wondered if the infection had any side effects during the incubation period, but immediately realized she'd probably find out soon anyway. This was well and truly fucked.

She threw herself out of bed, knowing that if she remained, she'd probably just want to lie there until she died, or the world ended – whichever came first.

When she came down, Cindy and Paul were exiting the refectory, taking to each other. When they noticed Chelsea, they came towards her. "Axe boy's awake," Paul announced.

"Yeh? How's 'e?"

"So-so. Not making much sense, but no longer violent. At least for now."

"Is 'e uh… approachable?"

"Somewhat," Paul answered. "But very confused and not exactly talkative."

"Be careful when you go see 'im, alright?" Cindy asked. "I don't trust 'im. Don't think anyone does."

"I'll keep my distance."

"Renee's with him now," Cindy said. "He's still tied up an' all, but he looks like he could rip the table apart whenever he feels like it. Guy's a fuckin' giant."

"I know," Chelsea grinned. "I've seen him up close. I hope he's less fuckin' terrifyin' in daylight."

Paul chuckled at that. "Just a bit, yeah."

"Gives me the heeby-jeebies is what he does," Cindy grunted. "But hey, Chel, we gotta go. You gonna be okay?"

"Sure, yeh, I'll be fine." She wasn't the one who'd be at the most risk today.

Cindy sighed. "We'll miss you today. I'm _so_ sorry." Her face was so contrite it would be ludicrous if it wasn't so sincere, and if the occasion was different.

"I know, Cindy. I already told you, forget about it. The only way you can make it up to me is by lettin' it go and go back to bein' cheery."

She smiled and looked down, shaking her head. "Sheeit. I swear, Chel, y'all got a heart of fuckin' gold."

"Pft," she blew. "Mistakes 'appen, yeah? No point doin' each other's head in over it, is there?"

"No, but still. Any other person would hate my rotten guts."

"Well I wouldn't, an' I don't. So shu' up and go find us some tasty loot."

She made a mock salute. "Yes ma'am!"

"Paul, take care of 'er out there. She's a clumsy bird, yeah?"

He smiled and took Cindy by the shoulder, leading her outside.

"An' try not to kill this Doug bloke. Just leave 'im tied to a tree if he gets too annoyin'.

Now, for the axeman. She entered the refectory, and saw him sitting in a chair, still restrained, with Renee trying to talk to him and Anita watching him like a hawk. Even sitting down, the man was huge, two metres of muscle and tension. His hair was as dishevelled as it had been a few hours ago, but his face, at least, wasn't the mask of confused fury it had been during the night.

"Eya Renee, Anita. So how's our nighttime visitor?"

"Hey Chel. Let's talk about you first, you alright?" Renee asked.

"Yeh, fine. Could you take a look at my bandages later?"

"Of course. Now, for our guest, well, I think it's best if you talked to him directly. I haven't gotten much out of him yet, but maybe you can. He seems to be coming out of his daze.

"Sure, yeah." She kneeled down next to the chair, taking a look at the man with his hands bound behind him. His eyes were half-open and his mouth moved. "Eya mate?"

The eyes briefly settled on her before moving around again.

"What were you doin' out there in the middle of the night?"

His head rolled around on his neck and he let out an inarticulate groan.

"Think he's under the influence?" Chelsea asked Renee.

"No, I don't actually. Seems more like he's… suffering from a combination of extreme emotional shock and extreme fatigue."

"Huh. Oi mate, can you tell us your name at least?"

This time the eyes were a bit more lucid when they returned Chelsea's gaze. "It's… Max."

Chelsea whooped as if it was an immense victory. "Alreet, good. What were you doin' out there all alone, Max?"

It was only then that he seemed to be becoming aware of his restraints, looking over his shoulder and trying to wring loose. "What… why am I…"

"Cause we're not sure if you're dangerous or not, yeah?" Chelsea explained. "You gave us a right scare, showin' up in the middle of the night bangin' your axe against the gate like a maniac."

He kept looking around in a daze, as if he didn't quite understand how ropes worked. "I don't… remember," he murmured, "how did I… get here?" He seemed to be asking himself the question more than anyone else.

"Pretty sure the only one who ever had a chance of knowin' that was you, mate. Like I said, you showed up at our gate in the middle of the bleedin' night."

He tugged at the ropes, the chair creaking. "This is… pointless. Untie me."

"Nah mate, not just yet."

His frown settled back on her, his eyes clearer and more focused now. "I'm not a danger to any of you, just… get these ropes off and… let me go. I've got… work to do."

"Work, mate? Right now you probably can't even stand up straight, let alone do any work. What're you talkin' aboot anyway?"

His eyes became hard and determined. "My work… kill every last one of those zombie bastards."

Was he serious? On his own? With a fire axe? "Ambitious, bu' I hope you brought a few spare axe 'eads, marra."

"I'll take down as many as I can," he grunted. "Now let me go."

"C'mon, seriously," Chelsea told him. "You'll die out there. Just… stay 'ere a bit, get your strength back." She exchanged a glance with Renee. "An' if you wanna belt zombies so badly, do it along with us, so it actually means summat, instead of just dyin' a pointless death."

He only stared at her for a few seconds and then grunted. "… Fine. Now get these ropes off me."

"Yer not gannin' radgie if I do, are yeh?"

He blinked. "… What?"

She articulated carefully, "You're not going to get aggressive, are you?"

He scoffed, looking away. "Not against you, no. I wanted you dead, I'd just break the chair. Only tied up because I'm allowing it. For now."

"What'd you think, Renee?"

She leaned against the table behind the bound man and said, "… I think it'll be alright."

Chelsea did, too. He hadn't strained against the ropes or shown any signs of aggression. And he was probably right about the chair. The guy was built like an oak tree.

"Alreet, I'm gan untie you now. You'll be calm, right?"

" _Yes_."

Only mildly nervous, Chelsea undid the knots on the ropes and let them fall to the ground. The man rose, rubbing his wrists. "Thank you."

"Salreet. I'll ask Elaine to get a room ready for you so you can get some sleep, yeah? Although," she flapped her hand in front of her face. "I'd really recommend, a shower first. We'll see if we've got some claes your size." She quickly clarified, "Tha's clothes."

He gave her a look of confused annoyance and walked off, Renee calling for Anita to help her escort the man to the showers.

"Oi mate?" She called after him.

He stopped and turned.

"I'm Chelsea, this is Renee, and tha's Anita. You got a name?"

He stood there for a moment, then grunted, "… It's Max."

"Cheers, enjoy your shower."

"Hmph."

She figured he was just curt and unfriendly because he was getting over the shock or trauma or whatever it was that was affecting him. He'd probably defrost after some rest. Hopefully. Because after that Doug workyticket, she wasn't sure she was okay with another problem person joining the shelter. They'd have to wait and see.

She grabbed some scran in the kitchen, but before she could eat her breakfast, Renee came back, insisting to change her bandage, and that Anita was securely posted outside the men's locker room, with Joel keeping her company for now. She inspected the injury thoroughly, and concluded that there were no signs of infections (at least of the garden variety) or other misbehaviour.

As she was eating her king's meal of dried biscuit and tinned meat, the axe man appeared in the doorway, Joel following behind. He was dressed in beige slacks that stopped just above his ankles and a light blue shirt that just barely fit, the buttons stretched around his broad chest. "Hey."

"Eya."

"Thanks for… the shower."

That sounded like it hurt to say. "No problem. Feelin' better?"

"A little. Your… friend here," he nudged his head at Joel, "… told me a bit about your Shelter."

"Mm?"

"If I stay, I only have one demand… Also the only thing I can offer."

She didn't like it when people accepted the protection and comfort of the Shelter, but somehow felt like they had the luxury to attach conditions to it, but she let him speak." What's tha' then?"

He sat down opposite her. He smelled of shower gel, which was a massive improvement over the stench of blood, sweat and guts that had clung to him before. His hair still stood in all directions, though. "You go out scavenging every day. Yes?"

"Tha's right."

He nodded. "I won't sit here while those things are out there. I go along. Out there."

Well, this was a first, someone actually _demanding_ to put themselves in harm's way. Chelsea wasn't sure his suicidal, axe-crazy behaviour would make things safer in the field, but on the other hand, this man had survived out there on his own, chopping up zombies like cordwood. As long as he limited himself to the zombies and the humans who wanted to do them harm, he'd probably be a one-man engine of destruction, and better to have him on their side than not. "Uh-huh. You want to go out scavenging? Like, every day?"

He set his jaw. "And night if I could."

"Na, we stay in at night, daytime's dangerous enough as i' is. Alreet, but on one condition."

He gave her an impatient look.

"It's a team effort, always. You don't go strikin' out on your own, you don't gan radgie at a group of zombies if we can also avoid 'em, no loose cannon shite. Think you can manage tha'?"

He looked away, leaning back. At length he said, "Fine. But any zombies I can kill safely, _I kill_."

"Long as it doesn't endanger the group, you can smack gobs all you want."

"Settled then."

"Yeh. Now go get some rest."

He shook his head. "I'm fine. Don't sleep anyway." Rising, he announced, "Going to scout the immediate area. See if anything needs killing. My axe?"

"It's uh, in the supply room. Joel will accompany you."

"I can go on my own," he grunted. "Won't steal anything."

"He'll still accompany you regardless."

"Hmph."

This one would be a piece of work. But better to have him here, where he could be supervised, than out there, possibly drawing zombies to the Shelter or telling others where they were. And despite his creepy demeanour, she did believe he'd be mostly harmless to them… providing no one rubbed him the wrong way, most likely.

They'd have to wait and see.

She finished her meal, got up and went to get Renee. Time to see what could be done about creating some sort of infirmary. They spent the morning and part of the afternoon zoning a part of the atrium, measuring, cutting and placing metal studs (they weren't exactly straight, and didn't quite line up, but it didn't matter) and screwing plates of drywall against them to create a closed-off area, though sadly without a door. Chelsea had to consult the DIY-manual often, but the result really wasn't too shabby. Then they spent the rest of the time centralizing all medical equipment and medication. A sofa from the library could serve as a makeshift medical bed, and two more one-sitters lashed together made for another one – albeit for pretty short patients. Chelsea wasn't all that great with lifting and moving stuff on account of her missing – and hurting! – fingers, but they got it done. It wasn't an infirmary worthy of the name by any means, just a hodgepodge of things that might do, but still, having a zoned area where people could recover with some quiet wouldn't hurt. As they worked, they talked about this and that, and every so often, Elaine passed by to offer some refreshments. Joel came in during the work to voice his concerns over their new inhabitant (Chelsea understood but still wanted to wait and see), and Anita passed by a few times to take a breather from the cement hauling, offering the occasional quip about how she had to do the work meant for four people and a pick-up truck. Chelsea didn't envy her, but she knew that Anita liked heavy lifting jobs. She looked like she was enjoying it, too, although the cold lemonade would sure be welcome after a day pushing wheelbarrows in the heat. They didn't see Davis at all, except once, to get some instant coffee, when he explained that he was busily repairing the radio (joking that the pistons had blown out) and that he really wanted to get it done today.

She only worried about the scav group once or twice, knowing that they'd do fine on her own. Perhaps Paul, Bud and Cindy had already punched workie Doug into a modern art masterpiece, but even that didn't worry her all that much. There'd be friction, but as annoying as Doug (Doug _Schultz_!) was, the three others were level-headed enough (mostly) to just ignore his antics. Still, it was strange to know others were out there and she was here. Felt a bit… dirty? Which was absolutely stupid since she had no more duty to be out there than anyone else, and the people who hadn't gone out much didn't seem to feel all that guilty about it either. In fact, the atmosphere was pretty relaxed for the most part. Maybe she'd have to write more chores on the job board, she thought to herself with a smile.

When the infirmary was done, Chelsea permitted herself a bit of downtime, doing a crossword puzzle in the library with a can of orange pop to take her mind off her hand and, well, the possible death sentence she'd received. She did remember to take a capsule of antibiotics. If she had a watch, she could've set her alarm. Best to make it a morning ritual for now, pop a pill every time she got out of bed. Because forgetting would be disaster. She sighed and decided not to dwell on it. As long as there were antibiotics, there was hope. She needed to have faith in the others, and herself, that they'd find enough.

Afterwards, she and Renee cleaned up the small messes they'd made here and there, rearranged the supply room, took out the trash, and did other small but useful chores around the school. At five, she hopped in the shower, taking a nice, long, hot one before starting dinner. She wasn't a wizard in the kitchen, but she could get a semblance of a meal ready. As she was cooking the pasta they'd dug up in the school's old pantry, she heard the sounds of the away party coming back home. Making sure the pasta still had a few minutes to boil, she went into the atrium to see what they'd scored.

Doug was alive and well and not gagged, surprisingly, and the others were doing fine too. Bud gave her a short nod, Doug pretended she didn't exist and Cindy was too busy rummaging in her backpack to notice her. Paul saw her immediately and stepped towards her.

"Hey Chelsea. We made it back in one piece. No major incidents, though we did have to shoot someone. Some homeless looking guy charged us in the middle of the street, holding what looked like a handgun. Bud took him out, but turned out what he had in his hands was just a glue gun. Not sure why he did what he did, but there were several empty bottles around his hiding place. Seemed infected, too. Apart from that, nothing serious. Occasional shambler, but easily dealt with."

She smiled. "Doug didn't do your 'eads in too much?"

With a half-shrug, he replied, "No, it was alright. He and Cindy bickered a bit in the beginning, but Bud quickly put a stop to that. He held his own pretty decently, I have to admit. He's a blowhard, but he's not _as_ useless as expected."

"So, so," she asked. "Loot?"

He chuckled, "Thought that'd be the first thing you'd ask." He began unloading his backpack. "We looted a small gas station, and a little diner. Brought back quite a bit of food, toilet paper, magazines, candy, energy drinks, you know, the usual gas station stuff." He thought for a minute. "As for non-food, uh, we've got some motor oil, a half-filled jerrycan of gasoline, cleaning supplies, small tools, cooking utensils, nothing terribly special but all good things to have. And we found a little surprise under the counter in the diner." He pointed at Cindy, showing off a sawed-off pump-action shotgun to Joel and Anita. It even had six shells strapped to the body.

"Ooh, nice," Chelsea said. She wasn't a fan of guns, but they were a necessary, and even welcome, evil.

"Modified Remington 870, pretty impressive for a backwoods diner. And we've confirmed it works too. Diner owner lay dead behind the counter with a knife stuck in her throat, and her attacker was on the other side, his lungs full of buckshot."

"Oh. That's… a shame, I s'pose."

"I know. All of it is." He put his hands in his sides. "Who gets the shotgun?"

"You do," Chelsea decided. "Can't do owt with an empty revolver, an' you an' Bud 're pretty much the only ones I trust with a gun 'round 'ere. An' _maybe_ Joel."

He didn't object. "Sure, yeah. By the way, we also found a kid's zip gun stashed behind a dumpster. The thing itself is in such a sorry state it's probably more dangerous to the shooter than to the target, but there were a few .22 bullets taped to the dumpster too."

"Ah, well, tha's always good I s'pose. Shame we don't have…" but she was wrong. "No wait, we _do_ have a .22 pistol, right? The uh, thing we found in that car boot?"

He nodded, fishing the bullets out of his pocket and letting them clink into her palm. "That's right. Now Chelsea," he said with a grin, "I'm not going to tell you how to do things, but I'm thinking, it's about time our leader had a gun of her own."

She felt a rush of warmth go up her chest. "Bu' wait, I'm rubbish with guns. I've never even fired one. Tha's mental."

"Not a problem," he replied. "I've got some time after dinner to teach you. We can't use live ammunition, obviously, but this way at least you'll be prepared."

Even though the prospect of holding and using a gun daunted her, she did have to admit to herself that learning to shoot would be fun, and Paul would doubtless make a patient and knowledgeable teacher. It'd make for a nice break from all the pressure and preoccupation of leadership. With that, she suddenly realized she'd actually been thinking of herself as 'the leader' for a while now, which was both a good and a bad thing. She decided to focus on the good.

"Oh sure, yeah, lookin' forward to it." But then she realized something else. "Awh shite, the scran's boilin' owa!" she let out, before rushing to the kitchen and pulling the foaming pot of pasta from the fire. She finished dinner quickly, aided by a slightly (and only briefly) miffed Cindy who hadn't gotten a greeting from her when she'd come home, and Davis helped set the table, cheery that his radio was fixed and working right.

Dinner itself was a pleasant affair, with everyone except their new arrival present (Chelsea began to doubt if he'd even return), and everyone seemed to be having a good time, jokes were being told, stories shared, small talk made. It gave Chelsea a modest feeling of pride, knowing that she was doing pretty alright, all things considered.

Before her feeling had the chance to gently fade away, everyone fell silent.

In the doorway stood the wild-haired man, axe in hand, its head slick with blood and other foul bodily fluids. After a short moment of silence, he merely said, "Don't mind me." Which was of course, absolutely pointless advice. After some more silence, he walked towards the table, took a plate, scooped on some pasta and left again, leaving only a brief parting grunt of "Enjoy dinner".

When he was well and truly gone, Cindy remarked, "Geez, does that guy ever shut up?"

That did relax the atmosphere somewhat, but the conversation that ensued was completely dominated by the subject of 'that creepy guy with the axe'. Anita was adamant that she didn't trust him, that he might snap at any moment and chop everyone in the shelter into bloody chunks, while Renee insisted he was probably just traumatized and would stabilize if given a nurturing environment. Paul and Bud argued that they'd seen this type of PTSD before and that it was very difficult to recover without special treatment, but not impossible, while Doug offered his 'extensive experience with psychology from the university of life' to the group. Cindy and Joel were, for once, unanimous, unfortunately they both agreed that the man was too creepy to be allowed to stay. Elaine remained mostly silent, but did gently remind that if the people in this Shelter truly didn't believe that people could recover from trauma, that they simply would've thrown her out on the doorstep to die, and that they hadn't done that. Davis simply said he trusted Chelsea to make the right decision.

Chelsea knew the other would be looking to her for the final say, so at the end of the conversation, she told the others that she and Renee were the ones who'd actually spoken to him, and that they both believed he didn't present any danger at this time, so he could stay. She also added that he was probably a juggernaut in a fight and that she'd rather have him here, with them, than out there, doing god-knew-what.

That seemed to settle the matter somewhat, but Cindy did feel the need to point out, "I still think it's a bad idea," as she scooped up her last spoon of pasta. Because of course she did.

With dinner over, Elaine and Renee assigned themselves to dishes duty, Bud announced he'd be walking the perimeter a bit, Cindy claimed the showers for herself, Davis said he was going for some air, Joel took a moment to relax, Anita returned to the last of her hauling and stacking duties, Doug wandered off to the library and Chelsea reminded Paul of a promise he'd made.

He took her to the gym, which was expansive enough – and useless enough in its current state – that they could practice in safety and quiet. He started by explaining her the basics of how the pistol worked, the mechanisms and forces involved. Where the safety was, where the magazine ejected. Then, he told her to listen carefully, because he was going to tell her something she had to remember for the rest of her life.

He held up a finger. "One: every firearm is always loaded and ready to fire, except if you checked it personally, and _especially_ if you checked it personally. Never assume a gun isn't loaded and remember that you, too, can forget to check your own weapon so if in doubt, check again." Second finger. "Two, keep your finger _off the trigger_ at all times except when you are firing your weapon. So finger off the trigger unless your weapon is aimed at the target and you are ready to fire." Third finger. "Three, never aim your weapon at anything you aren't willing to destroy. Never aim it at people, don't wave it around, don't look inside the barrel. When drawn, always have it pointed in a safe direction. I'll explain more later." Fourth finger, "And fourth, be certain of your target _and_ of what's behind it. Keep in mind that your bullet will likely travel through your target and strike things behind it. Be mindful of ways your projectile can bounce, ricochet, or otherwise travel beyond its intended target. Be aware of who can possibly move into your firing line." He held up his four fingers. "If you violate any of these four rules, terrible things can and will happen. And never, ever count on the weapon's safety to prevent accidents if you do. Do you understand these rules as I have explained them to you?"

He was being very formal about this, but Chelsea supposed that came with the territory of being military-trained. She resisted the temptation to tell him that it was alright to loosen up and that there was no need to worry she might not take it seriously, and simply said. "Yeah. I understand. I promise I'll do everything I can to use this safely."

He nodded. "Alright. I know I probably sound very schoolteachery but this is so incredibly important, and I've seen so many people, including ones I thought were reliable and careful, causing accidents or near-accidents with guns. If you don't respect the power these things have, no matter if it's a .22 or a .50 BMG, people will get hurt. And I mean, the zombies are bad enough without people accidentally shooting each other in the back."

"Yeh, I promise I'll be careful."

He nodded. "Then there's a secret fifth rule."

Why not, one more couldn't hurt.

He recited, "Ignore those who decry these rules, you will outlive them."

… Okay?

He elaborated. "If you see people calling you uptight or acting nonchalant about guns, either set them straight or simply ignore them. People who don't respect the power of the things they're holding deserve everything they get. Be smarter than they are, alright?"

"Yeh, understood."

"Alright!" He clapped his hands and wrung them together. "Let's get started. So, most important reason people miss shots is not bad aim. It's trigger action."

He went on to explain how to hold a firearm, how to pull the trigger ("squeeze, don't jerk") and how to line up the sights ("the best shot is one that surprises the shooter"). Eventually, he gave the weapon to Chelsea and let her practice. With ammunition being so scarce, she could only dry-fire, but still, she picked up a load of interesting pointers and learned many things about guns she didn't know she had to learn.

There was a little bonus moment for her at the end when he stood behind her and adjusted her grip, his arms cradling hers and his chest to her back.

God, she missed the warmth of a man close to her.

The moment clearly meant much less to him as it did to her, but still, having a brief taste of intimacy, however imaginary, had made her feel better. And she supposed to crash course in firearm use hadn't harmed either. It was getting dark when Paul announced that they'd trained enough for the time being, and that he needed an early night after all the scavenging of the last days. She said him goodnight and thanked him for the lesson, then went to the job board to update it. She was going out again tomorrow. Sitting in the Shelter hadn't been good for her state of mind, both because it made her mind wander in circles, and because it made her feel useless. Her fingers were healing alright (she supposed), so might as well do what she was best at. Or least worst, at least. Other things would need to be adjusted too. Anita needed a new job, and she had just the thing. Also, they had enough people now, and many had already made the remark that the Shelter was unprotected at night. That couldn't continue or they'd be caught with their pants down – literally for most – sooner or later. They needed night watchmen, and usually the folks that were most suitable for this kind of thing were the people who were both somewhat skilled at combat, _and_ pretty anti-social. Two candidates immediately came to mind.

She popped the cap off the marker, stole a quick whiff of the tip, and wrote,

 _Chelsea Jayne – scav_

 _Renee Cass – medicine inventory, study in library (medicine books maybe)?_

 _Anita Cass – reinforce fence_

 _Joel Oswalt – patrol fence_

 _Elaine Martin - hospitality_

 _Davis Cray – radio / maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen – scav_

 _Paul Rainier – scav_

 _Bud Larsen – night watch, first shift_

 _Doug SCHULTZ – night watch, second shift_

 _Max ? – scav_

And that was that. Tomorrow would be another day of adventure for her. No more sitting at home. She had to get back in the saddle after falling off the horse.

After letting Renee take a look at her bandages (and listening to her expressions of disapproval that she was going back out tomorrow), she had a brief chat with Elaine and Cindy in the library, talking about girl stuff without much substance, then she went back to look at her and Renee's handiwork on the medical bay, her hands in her sides and a smile on her face. They'd done pretty alright, if she did say so herself. At some point during the evening, the wild man with the axe came in, walked to the gym and flopped down on the mat.

He was weird, and only time would tell if he was actually dangerous.

In a weird way, she was looking forward to going back out there tomorrow. Perhaps she simply needed the feeling of there still being a world outside, that this Shelter wasn't all that was left in a sea of nothing.

Now there was an unsettling thought.

She shook it off and went to bed, hoping that at least tonight, she'd get a decent night's sleep.


	9. Day 8 - Fresh Meat

**.**

* * *

 **DAY EIGHT**

 **Fresh Meat**

* * *

She'd managed to sleep some despite the pulsating pain in her hand, though the double dose of ibuprofen might have been more than a bit to thank for the modest but significant amount of caught z's. She still felt horrible, but less so than yesterday. She'd actually managed to sleep past the death hour, checking her clock to see it was just past six.

Fuck it. She was going to lie down a bit longer. The makeshift bed was terribly uncomfortable, but it was still a bed, a place she could lie in and just think thoughts without people shouting in her ear. She closed her eyes and just relaxed and relived some memories. Of skipping school with Tilly and going to the pool hall, or for a walk on the bridge over the Tyne. Tilly always offered her a cigarette and she always refused. She felt herself smile thinking about it.

Incredible how they'd let things go to shit so quickly. She still didn't understand what had gotten into Tilly, and why she'd let herself get dragged along into it. By the time Chelsea had found out what had been putting her best friend so incredibly on edge for weeks, it had been too late. She'd owed some very nasty people a lot of money. Chelsea realized she'd probably never know exactly how it had gone, or why it had happened, but her friend had been in trouble and –

There was a knock on the door. Chelsea opened her eyes and checked the clock. Already seven. Had she slept? Maybe. Didn't matter.

"Whosit?"

"Hey Chel," came a careful voice. "It's Renee. Sorry to wake you, but it's seven o' clock."

"Sure, yeah, salreet." She threw her legs out of bed and rose, trudging towards the door.

"Morning," Renee said, looking anything but well rested herself.

"Yeh, mornin'. How's it goin'?

"Not so good… I've got um, you know. Girl cramps. Really painful ones."

"Oh. Yeh, tha's proper shite." Chelsea didn't have very dolorous periods herself, but she could very well sympathize with women who did. The really nasty ones could flatten a person for a day or two. "Take it easy today, yeah?"

"I will. I'd like to check your bandages first, if you're up for it."

"Oh. Yeh, sure, go ahead."

Renee sat down next to Chelsea on the bed and undid the wound dressings. There wasn't all that much pus or gunk, less than she'd expected from what was still a god damn zombie bite, but it was still a nasty wound, the stumps of her two missing fingers brightly crowned by a bright red, stitched seam.

"It looks pretty alright," Renee said. "It'll still be painful for a while, but I don't think there's an infection." She stopped herself. "At, at least, not in the wound."

Heat washed up inside Chelsea's ribcage. "Renee. You know summat. What 'ave you found out?"

The veterinarian looked down into her lap and sighed. "I… checked your blood under the microscope this morning. There's clear… well, there's visible signs of cells being infected with aggressive RNA and an increased number of T-cells, so… I mean, I'm not a microbiologist, I only know the basics, but that's a clear indicator that, well, your body is attempting to fight off a virus."

Her heart sank. She'd thought she'd accepted it, but now that it was actually confirmed, she realized she wasn't prepared for the news at all. She felt tears burning in her eyes and her insides felt like chilled oil. Fuck, so it was true. Was this a death sentence? Not as long as there were antibiotics, but she'd never be able to find enough to last her a lifetime. Everyone died eventually, but having a countdown timer over her head made her feel absolutely horrible. Especially since once the timer ran out…

She felt Renee's fingers gently close around her wrist. "Hey. This doesn't have to be the end. There's been numerous reports of people staying alive for, well… indefinitely as long as they had antibiotics. And we have quite a bit. In fact, when the world was still functioning more or less normally, the government said there were strong indications that taking the antibiotics regularly to stave off the secondary effects would eventually enable the body to eliminate the virus. I mean, those claims were contested by other scientists, but…"

Chelsea could do nothing but sigh. She was infected. Sooner or later, she would die from this virus. No, not die… be turned. She wouldn't let it come to that, no matter what. Even death was a less horrible fate than… the other thing.

"Chelsea. We'll find more. If, if, if you want, I'll come along with you guys. I know I won't be much help, but…"

"No," she rasped. "I promised your mom – "

"My mom will understand. She has to," Renee broke her off. "I'm coming out there with you if it helps."

Chelsea shook her head. "Salreet, Renee. Your leg needs to heal, an' you're right," she tried to joke. "You won't be much help."

Renee managed a short chuckle. "I'll do what I can though. Maybe I can find a way to, I don't know, slow the virus. It's only a high school library but there might be some surprises in there, I don't know."

"Do I… need to be quarantined?"

"No, no," Renee said, redoing Chelsea's bandages. "The virus spreads through saliva or other bodily fluids entering the bloodstream. You won't infect anyone as long as you don't get into fistfights or bite people, or allow saliva to get into their wounds, or let your blood come into contact with open injuries." She cleared her throat for a moment and leaned in. "And always make sure to use a condom."

Chelsea let out a raw chortle. "Pretty sure no one'll be achin' to 'ave it off with me now."

"It… should be safe as long as you make sure neither of you have open wounds and if you use protection."

"Be sure to let everyone know tha', won't yeh?"

"I'll post a bulletin on the job board," Renee smiled. " _Have sex with Chelsea, it's totally fine, promised._ "

"Tha'd be a sight."

Renee cocked her head. "Are you going to be alright though? I mean, you're not going to… do anything stupid, right?"

With a snort, Chelsea replied, "Renee. Tha's mental. No, I'm not goin' to off myself or owt. I'll need some time to come to grips with it, but I'm not just gan hang my head."

"You sure? If you need someone to talk to…"

"… Tha's sweet, Renee, bu' you're way too busy as it is."

She gave a short, embarrassed laugh. "I was going to suggest Elaine, but yes, I'm here for you too. I think if you're going to confide in anyone, though, she'll be with you through thick and thin. I mean, me too, but… you know what I mean."

"Yeh I know," Chelsea said. "She'd probably feel insulted if I didn't, heh."

"Well, you saved her life, she'd want to mean something to you in return." She was quiet for a moment. "By which I don't mean that your grief is currency or something. Just… you'll find a loyal and dedicated friend in her."

"In you too," Chelsea reassured her, "but you're right." She rose. "Anyway, it's moot, yeah? I'm doin' fine an' I'll keep doin' fine. I'm gan fight, I'm gan live, and I'm not givin' up."

Renee stood up as well. "That's the spirit. I'd advise against going out today, but I know you'll just ignore that… and maybe that's for the best. I can imagine being useful will take your mind off things."

"Yeh. It will." She sighed. "Which reminds me, I need to get goin', yeah?"

"Is it that time already?" Renee asked, alarmed. "Crap, sorry, didn't mean to take up so much of your time. The others'll be waiting for you."

With a shrug, Chelsea told her, "Let 'em wait, I 'ad a doctor's appointment, right?"

"Right. Well, we're done here, off you go."

Off she went, but not before putting some decent clothes on – she wasn't going out in her jammies, after all. It was strange getting dressed with two missing fingers, but she supposed she'd get used to it well enough after a while. The actual loss of the fingers didn't bother or impede her that much at the moment, though that might still change. The pain would go away too, or at least fade to an ignorable level. The infection, well… if there were antibiotics, there was hope. She had to keep believing that, because there was no way she saw just going to take it lying down. She didn't dare hope for an actual cure, but shit if she wasn't going to keep holding on as long as she could.

She went down and said 'hi' to everyone. Thankfully she wasn't _that_ late yet, because Paul and Cindy still sat at the table, finishing their instant coffee and talking. They abruptly fell silent when Chelsea came in.

Something felt odd about their sudden silence.

"I interruptin' summat?"

"No, no," Paul said quickly, "we were just… talking."

Cindy sat up straight. "Want sumthin' to eat? There's crackers 'n' stuff left."

She felt her forehead knot into a frown. "You two sure I'm not botherin' you in summat personal?"

"Yeah, yeah," Cindy said, a bit too emphatically to be convincing. "Like Paul said, we were just talkin' 'bout this an' that, stupid small talk about our past lives."

Chelsea didn't miss the quick glance they exchanged. But fuck it, she wasn't going to drag it out of them. If they wanted to keep secrets, that was their prerogative. "Alreet then. Yeh I'm gan grab some scran an' I'll meet you at the entrance. The axe bloke up yet?"

"Mm," Paul said, draining the last of his coffee. "He's off to patrol the perimeter, saying he wasn't about to sit around and wait. He's… driven."

"Yeh, seems like it. Long as 'e saves it for the zombies, I'm fine with tha'."

"Mm, I think it won't be a problem."

"Least not until I become one, heh," Chelsea chuckled, trying hard to find the humour in her situation but succeeding only partially. Paul and Cindy awkwardly looked away. Cindy only uttered an uncomfortable, "… Yeah."

"Fuck _me_ , lads," Chelsea snapped, slapping her hand down on the table, "If I can see the humour in it, then you better fuckin' be able to do the same."

"No, no, you're right," Paul said hastily, "It's just… we're not sure how to behave right now. We don't want to be all gloom-and-doom, but we don't want to make light of it either."

"But um," Cindy said, "it's only cause we don't want to make you feel bad."

Chelsea supposed it was understandable. "Yeah, alright, sorry for 'avin' a go at you. But I'd like it best if you kept going like before and pretend nowt 'appened. Just… know tha' I can handle this. There's nae need to walk on eggshells, yeah?"

Paul nodded. "Understood."

"Yeah I gotcha. Just… don't hate me when I say stupid shit alright? You know I'm good at that."

"Yeh," Chelsea found her sense of humour back. "Y'are, at tha'."

Chelsea quickly stuffed her face with crackers and pulled a toothbrush across her mouth before rejoining the others, ready for another excursion. Cindy was already waiting at the gate, her fingers hooked in the straps of her backpack.

"Paul's gon' be here any second, he's just finishin' up inside."

"Yeh, alright."

"Does it… still smart?" Cindy asked with a pained face. "Um, hurt?"

There was no point being a crybaby about it, so Chelsea just said, "A bit, yeah. But only when I think about it. When I'm doin' summat else, I don't even feel it anymore." It was a lie, but it was either that, or be subjected to another apology-waterfall, and she'd had enough of those. The girl felt bad, sure, but repeating it over and over helped no one.

"Oh. Well, that's good, then." She cocked her head. "Sure you're not still mad at me?"

"You're my friend, Cindy, so yeh, I'm sure. Now stop askin', you're doin' my head in," she said with a forced smile.

"Right, right, I'll stop." She sighed and made a bounce. "So, where'd you wanna go today?"

Happy to change the subject, she looked into the morning sun and said, "Well, not to be selfish an' tha', but we'll need all the antibiotics we can get. Those should be our priority. We need to stock up now we've got the chance. Others might get infected too, an' if they do, our supplies will dwindle fast."

"Yep," she chirped. "Makes sense. Let me think for a second… We can be pretty sure pharmacies and supermarkets have already been looted, but I think I remember there bein' a vet's office on… Route 87." She paused and thought again. "Yeah, I think it was Route 87."

"Well, let's try tha' then. How far d'you think it is?"

"Mmmmmm, few hours' walk." She grinned stupidly. "Nothin's close to each other here in cowboy country. Lots an' lots of open countryside."

"We going?"

The gruff voice belonged to the man with the axe (Max, was it?) who'd come to stand next to them. He was even taller in the daylight, a bear of a man who'd probably be able to snap her in half with two fingers.

Still, Chelsea told herself she wasn't going to be intimidated by this giant. "Yeh, in a bit," she answered as casually as possible. "Just waitin' on Paul."

"Hmph."

"Y'kno', she told him, "We're probably goin' to be stuck together in this shelter for a long time. Won't kill you to say more'n a few words."

"Not big on talking. Not anymore."

"Why?" Chelsea asked, hoping she wasn't making a huge mistake. "What 'appened?"

He set his jaw and repeated, "Not. Big. On. Talking."

It would be a really bad idea to push it, so she just shrugged and said, "Alright, suit yourself. By the way, is there owt you want us to look for out there? Summat you need, or that'll help yeh?"

She merely said, "Sleeping pills."

"… Right." She could see why. The man's eyes were ringed with black and his sclera were criss-crossed with red veins. Clear signs of chronic sleep deprivation. He'd already mentioned that he couldn't sleep. "We'll keep an eye out. Have you two been introduced already?" Behind him, she saw Paul emerge from the school building.

"Uh, hi," Cindy said, her voice not entirely steady. "I'm Cindy." She held out her hand, pre-emptively wincing as she expected it to be crushed in a moment.

The man didn't shake, or even acknowledge it and just grunted, "Max."

Paul came to join them, announcing he was ready to go. After checking with him if the itinerary was to his liking, they left.

The hike was hot, as always, but still rather cheerful despite the silent, axe-wielding bear walking beside them. Cindy had found it a good idea to start telling stories about her time at Splendid High, especially ones involving Joel, and in spite of herself, Chelsea rather enjoyed the tales of her antics, sneaking out on field trips to go drink while Joel panicked, thinking they'd been kidnapped, or dismantling the principal's car during the night and putting it back together inside his office. They were probably exaggerated or even made up, but it didn't matter, they were entertaining. Paul occasionally contributed a story about his little acts of rebellion in the Army, and Chelsea too found the occasion to share the story about her and Kenny Saunders locking up their classmates inside the classroom along with three rancid stink bombs.

Max, predictably, was silent and grim. He only spoke three times, always to say the same thing: he'd seen a zombie and he'd be right back. And all three times, he'd marched towards his quarry and smashed its skull apart with a terrifying blow from his fire axe. He didn't even bother being stealthy or minimizing the risk. He just went for it and _splat_. All good and well against one or two of them, but they all hoped he'd show a little more restraint when confronted with larger groups, or he'd be less the terror of zombies and more their lunch.

At least he wasn't a danger to the people who considered him an ally, how ever tenuously.

The walk took a few hours, mostly over a deserted route, with a crashed or abandoned car here and there. They'd managed to look inside two of them, but apart from the puny first aid kits, nothing of interest had lain therein. They reached the place eventually, at least Cindy thought they did, but what they saw didn't inspire much hope.

"Careful," Paul said when they beheld the vista before them. "Whoever did this might still be around."

After observing for a distance, however, it was clear that they weren't. No one moved around or inside the burnt building, and the two dead people in white lab coats were the only silent witnesses to the tragedy that had occurred.

When they investigated more closely, Cindy observed, "Hey y'all, these are tyre tracks." She kneeled down. "Bikes, I think."

"Yeah," Paul confirmed. "Motorcycles, bunch of 'em. I wager it was your friends the Coyotes that passed by here."

"Mm," Chelsea was inclined to agree. These Coyotes were apparently the only biker gang worth mentioning hereabouts, so it was very likely that it was indeed them. The bunch they'd encountered a few days ago seemed to fit the profile of these crimes too, and if it hadn't been for their leader, they might've ended up same way as these veterinarians.

Cindy stood up and looked at the burned ruins, her eyes sad above her surgical mask. "What was even the point? This is at least six or seven bikes. Against two vets. Big fuckin' men they are."

"Well," Paul argued, "We don't know what happened but – "

"Come on, Paul," she let out. "It weren't no god damn gas leak." She added under her breath, "Fuckin' leather-sniffin' faggots."

Paul had either not heard the slur or simply ignored it. "I don't think there's any point to searching the place."

"No," Chelsea agreed. "We'll never know why they killed 'em. They could've taken whatever they wanted without… well."

"When law disappears, the strong rebuild society. The weak resort to cruelty and vileness," Max, of all people, spoke up.

He wasn't wrong though. Chelsea hated cruelty with every fibre of her being, as did her friends, and she was glad this man was on the same page regarding that, at least.

"I've seen it everywhere," he continued in his dispassionate grunt. "Those previously restrained by society let their depraved urges out when the threat of consequences fades."

Paul cleared his throat. "Uh, well quite. Well, unless there's any reason for us to stay…?" he looked at Chelsea.

"Na, wish there was, bu'…" This also meant they wouldn't find antibiotics here. Her heart sank, especially considering that the entire day might've been wasted for nothing. "Cindy, you know any other place around here where we can scavenge sumthin', anythin'?"

Cindy blew, her surgical mask briefly inflating, and scratched her head. "I _think_ there's a truck stop a bit farther ahead. Might be looted or even burned if these piece of shit motormouths did the rounds, but it's the only place I can think of. Prolly ain't gonna be fuckin' El Dorado, but if it's still there, we'll find at least a few things worth bringin' home."

Chelsea shrugged. "We're 'ere now, might as well go 'round an' check."

Paul nodded. "Sure."

Max didn't mind where they went as long as there were zombies to kill, probably.

"It can't be too far," Cindy said. "C'mon."

It wasn't far indeed, a modest truck stop with an adjoining diner, parking lot and fast food joint. There was a bus on the other side of the road, crashed into a tree and folded like a harmonica. A body, presumably the driver's, lay in the sand at the bus' grille, amidst shards of glass.

Predictably, the area was populated by several zombies, although the Coyotes had apparently passed by here too, judging from the three zombies that had been tied to the Friggin' Chicken billboard and used as target practice. They hung from the ropes, shot apart and turned into rent and torn cadavers.

"That's fucked up," Cindy simply remarked.

Paul agreed, "There is literally no reason not to simply shoot at just the billboard."

"No bikes in the parkin' lot, at least," Chelsea said. "Zombies will be our only problem."

"Not for long," Max announced, gripping his axe and striding towards the closest zombie, splitting its skull apart and kicking the twitching body off his axe.

"Oi! Max!" Chelsea hissed. "Fuckin' gan canny! There's at least ten of 'em an' – "

He ignored her and swung his axe again, catching the next infected in the neck and sending it to the ground, its spine severed, nearly decapitated.

Three corpses turned towards them, their throats letting out an alarmed "Ghrk!"

Max promptly went for the first, the head of his axe missing the zombie's skull and burying itself in its collarbone, splitting its ribcage halfway down. He pulled his axe free, sending the ailing corpse to the ground and swung down, the axe cleaving the zombie's forehead and chopping off the top of its brain pan.

"This shit's gon' get us killed," Cindy grunted, lifting her pipe wrench.

"Not if we kick their arses," Chelsea told her, her crowbar ready. "We'll sort the rest out later."

Paul, too, held his baseball bat. "Let's hit it."

They ran after Max as he took down the second zombie, chopping its head clean off. He went for the next one, but two of them rushed him from the side. Paul smashed the skull of one of them apart, and Chelsea got the other, the bend of her crowbar smashing its brains out of its head.

With a roar, Max swung again, catching another zombie in the side and splitting it in two in a fan of putrid guts. Another came at him, but he swung upwards, cracking his assailant's pelvis apart and sending its insides falling out. Cindy missed a swing at another incoming infected, but she dodged the raking claws that came in return, and her second blow struck true, smashing the zombie's jaw off, another hit breaking the back of its head and squashing the rotten cerebellum.

Paul and Chelsea took care of another one, a zombie with an overall stamped with a copier manufacturer logo, and Max chopped the last one in two.

The parking lot fell silent, at least for a moment. But then Cindy erupted, shouting at Max, "Are you fuckin' crazy? You could've gotten us all killed with your god damn bullshit."

Chelsea felt the same way, "Tha' was fuckin' reckless, mate!"

He was unimpressed. "Zombies are slow. Stupid. Not a threat."

" _Jesus fuckin' Christ_!" Cindy screamed, throwing her wrench to the ground with a loud _clang_. "Chelsea, talk some sense into this nut job!" she snarled before storming off.

"She's right," Chelsea stood by her, her voice much louder than she wanted it to be. "This kind of fuckin' Leeroy Jenkins shite gets people killed, yeah?"

"I agree," Paul admonished. "Overconfidence is dangerous, and you shouldn't underestimate these zombies, no matter how big and bad you are."

"We approach danger _quietly_ ," Chelsea barked at him. "If things go to shite, you can roar and rampage all you want, yeah? Bu' if we can keep it quiet, _we keep it fuckin' quiet_!" Rage was boiling inside her. This kind of antics could've cost them all their lives.

"My way works," he grunted back. "It worked this time too. Don't see why I would change it."

"Because if you fuckin' don't," Chelsea shouted, "someone else will end up _like this_!" she held up her destroyed hand.

It seemed to get through to him, on some latent level. He stood glaring at them, but he seemed to have gotten the message, at least partly.

"Now you listen 'ere," she went on, less lividly. "You want to kill zombies, you kill zombies, I don't give a rat's arse, yeah? Bu' you do it quietly, withou' puttin' anyone else in danger. If you can't live with tha', you can go on a roarin' rampage on your own an' die a stupid, pointless, ugly fuckin' death, but not 'ere, not with us." She paused for a breath. "Is tha' clear?"

She took his unfriendly grunt as a 'yes'.

"Now uh," Paul said, "We should be following our own advice and stop making such a racket."

"Yeh, sorry," Chelsea panted. "It's just… I wouldn't be able to forgive myself if any of you, well… suffer the same thing I did."

She felt his hand on her shoulder. "It's alright, I know. And you're right to be upset, that was stupidly dangerous." He turned to Max. "Do you understand though? Why we need to be quiet and methodical about this?"

"Hmph," he grunted again. "Fine. Your way for now. But as soon as things go south…"

"Yeh," Chelsea said. "Then you can gan radgie all you want. Fuckin' be my guest." She took a breath and continued, "Now let's go get Cindy and search the place."

Cindy stood a ways off, her arms crossed, clearly fuming. When they approached, she asked roughly, "D'y'all talk some sense into him? Or are we gonna have to deal with more death wish shit?"

"It's settled," Chelsea reassured her. "Come on, let's go see what we can loot."

Cindy didn't seem entirely convinced, but she picked up her pipe wrench and joined in the scavenging. They started searching the nearby buildings, first the gas station, which scored them a few armfuls of chocolate bars, some tools for basic car maintenance, various magazines, and several canned soft drinks. Then came the fast food joint, where they found some stale burger buns, a few hardy vegetables that had remained edible in the unpowered refrigerators, and an assortment of sauces and condiments. With all the preservatives in those, they probably lasted forever. The meat, sadly, had all rotted to a stinking, liquefying mess. They also snagged some toilet paper and a few packs of napkins. Some vacuum-packed desserts made for a nice little bonus prize. They all ignored the body of the middle-aged black man sprawled over the centre table, his chest perforated by buckshot.

When they made to search behind the counter, however, a head of grey hair suddenly popped up. "Don't shoot, don't shoot, we're… I'm not armed."

It made all four of them jump, and their weapons immediately came up.

The man looked nervous and scared, but sane, holding out his palms to show his hands were empty. "Jesus, miss, can you… can you not point that crossbow at me?"

Cindy didn't feel particularly inclined to fulfil that particular request.

"What're you doin' 'ere?" Chelsea asked, "Hidin' behind the counter?"

"Sorry," the man said, "I didn't know if you were dangerous. We had those biker guys pass by here a few hours ago, and well… they weren't exactly well-intentioned." He paused. "As you can see from the gentleman on the table."

"No, not well-intentioned at all. But no, we're not with the Coyotes," Chelsea said.

Cindy quickly added, "which should be obvious from my melanin levels. Or uh, Chelsea's funny accent. Or our vaginas, for that matter."

"Uh, yes. Well, I could only hear you for the most part. Now I… I overheard you guys talking and you don't sound like looters or killers. This is… my hideout for the moment, and I'd really appreciate it if you left some of the food. I get that you're trying to survive, but so are, so am I. Would you be alright taking only half of it and then parting as friends?"

It was a reasonable request, but of course, they needed the food also. With the entire day already being mostly wasted, giving up half of what they'd found here would be a painful thing to do. Still, the man seemed harmless, and there was no reason they couldn't work things out civilly. "Cindy, love, you can lower the crossbow, yeah? I don't think this gentleman 'ere is going to suddenly try to take on four people with 'is bare 'ands."

Cindy's eyes frowned above her surgical mask, but she did as Chelsea asked. Paul, too, lowered his shotgun, which he'd kept trained on the man, but in a far less conspicuous manner.

"Wha's your name then, mate?" Chelsea asked. "I'm Chelsea, this, as you've 'eard, is Cindy, an' that's Paul. The quiet bloke with the axe is Max. An' no, I didn't realize that rhymed until I actually said it out loud."

"Pleased to uh, pleased to meet you, Chelsea, Cindy, Paul, Max. I'm… My name's Mark. Mark Corbeau. And no, I'm not going to attack you, even if I did stand a chance. Too many people out there trying to kill each other already, I'm not one of them."

"Yeh, same 'ere. The weapons are only to defend ourselves."

He extended his hand at one of the restaurant's tables. "Shall we? I still have a few cans of luke-warm beer. Might as well get comfortable for a moment."

There was little wrong with that, so they all sat down at the table, with the exception of Max, who looked out over the parking lot, his fingers tightly wrapped around the handle of his axe. None of them objected to sharing a beer, and the sound of cans cracking open made Chelsea feel, for a short and sweet moment, like the world wasn't all that bad. Their conversation partner seemed to think the same thing, grinning lopsidedly as he said, "Cracking open a cold one with the boys."

"So Mark," Paul asked, "How'd you end up here?"

The gray-haired man took a few gulps from his beer can, probably to flush the adrenaline and tension, and after a quiet burp, said, "I was in one of the evacuation buses. When everyone was out for a brief stop, the zombies suddenly came at us. Bus driver jumped behind the wheel and started the bus with just a few of us on board. We tried to stop him, but he was completely hysterical. He drove like a madman, left those people behind to be…" he trailed off. A short breath, and he went on, "his mind was completely gone. Smashed his bus right into that tree over there, went through the windshield. Dead on impact. Of the few remaining passengers, most left, to try their luck out there. We stayed here, but the food here isn't going to last long, so we'll be forced to hit the road soon, too. There might be – "

"Ey mate," Chelsea cut him off, gripping her crowbar under the table. "This isn't the first time you say 'we'. Who else is hidin' back there?" She felt her companions also going on silent alert.

He spread his hands apologetically, however, and said, "You're right, I haven't been completely honest with you. I'm not alone here, but I only kept that a secret because I didn't know if you people were dangerous."

"So how 'bout they show themselves, yeah?"

"Right, right, sorry, I know this looks suspicious, but it's… just to keep us safe." He raised his voice, "Ryan! You can come out now."

A few shuffling sounds came, and then a blond-haired teenage boy popped up from behind the counter, followed by a middle-aged Asian woman. "Uh, hey," the kid said. "We're uh, not dangerous."

"This is Ryan, and that's Michiru," the man at their table introduced them. "As you can see, they're quite harmless, I just… didn't want to expose them to unnecessary danger."

That was noble, but also very stupid. If it was true. "You can understand this looks a bit hairy, yeah?"

"I do, I do. But none of us are armed, or violent. We're just trying to survive, as you are. I asked them to stay hidden because I didn't know if you were decent people, or if you'd also taken up rape as a hobby."

"Hmph. Tha's all there is? You sure?"

He nodded. "Yes. Certain. Ryan's a high-schooler and Michiru… I don't know. We're uh, having some trouble with the language barrier."

"What," Cindy asked, "She Chinese or sumthin'?"

With a slightly mocking cocked eyebrow, the man replied, "… 'Michiru' is a Japanese first name, miss."

"Well, yeah," she flapped her hand. "Same thing."

"Not exactly, but okay." He turned back to Chelsea. "Anyway, that's us."

The blond kid approached and offered a hesitant, "Hi."

"Eya," Chelsea said back. "So what'll you do now? This place is obviously picked bone dry."

He sighed and rubbed his chin. "I don't know. Move on, I suppose. Hope we find more supplies." He gave a dry chuckle. "Imagine that, a professional chef with no food to cook."

"Hey," Cindy piped up, "We could use a chef, right? Chelsea and Davis can't cook worth a damn."

The other eyes instantly went to Cindy.

"… What?" she defended herself. "Not like it ain't true."

"It's nae about you insultin' my cookin'," Chelsea explained her. "It's about you runnin' your mouth an' low-key invitin' people to stay with us."

Cindy now realized what she'd said. "… Oh. Yeah, I can see how you might not like that." She turned to Mark and said, "Just ignore what I said, alright. No one listens to me anyway."

The man, however, leaned forward. "Stay with you? You mean, you have a base or something?"

"What if we did?" Chelsea asked.

"Well," he began awkwardly, "We uh, we'd love to, I mean, we'd make a valuable addition, I think."

Chelsea sighed, realizing the invitation had already been extended without conferral. "Alreet. How valuable?"

"Well," he said, "I'm a chef. I can't just make food taste good, I can also make it last longer. Most people are too wasteful when they cook. Not a professional."

She nodded. "Tha's you. What about them?"

He looked back at his two companions. "Uh…"

"Y'all got any skills, you two?" Cindy asked. Which was a bit funny since she, too, had been taken in despite having no real skills whatsoever. Same went for Chelsea, for that matter.

"Uh," the blond kid said, "I can um, I mean, I was in the swimming team in school?"

"Tha's good," Chelsea quipped. "We need someone to give swimmin' lessons at the shelter."

"Really?" he asked, his eyes widening.

Chelsea laughed. "Na, kid. I'm takin' the piss. Bu' let me ask you, are you willin' to work 'ard, pull your weight?"

He nodded vigorously, his eyes wide, "Absolutely! I mean, I won't slack off or anything, I'm not, like, a professional at anything but I'm willing to learn."

"Uh huh. So, wha' about you then, love?" she asked the Asian woman.

She only blinked as she realized she was being spoken to and looked at Mark. "… Nani?"

"Yeah," Mark sighed, rubbing the bridge of his nose. "Michiru's… not exactly a polyglot. She's nice and helpful, but not much of a conversationalist right now."

"Mm," Chelsea said. "Give us a minute?"

"Sure," the man said, "But I'd like to make one thing clear. We'd be very grateful if you decide to take us in, but it's an all-or-nothing deal. I won't leave a child and a lost foreigner behind to fend for themselves."

"Tha's duly noted," Chelsea said. "Back in a second."

She took the rest of her beer off the table and motioned for the other members of her group to come outside. When they were out of earshot, but could still keep an eye on the strange trio, Chelsea asked, "So? What're you thinkin'?"

Paul stuffed his hands in his pockets and said, "I think they're legit. They've got no real reason to double-cross us. Sure, the lying's a bit unpleasant but I can see why he did it. Plenty of crazy bastards out there looking to rape any woman they see." He sighed. "Or any teenage boys."

"Cindy?"

She blew. "Pft, I'm fine with it. But I also know I'm as good at judgin' characters as a weevil is at glassblowin', so yeah."

She didn't bother asking Max for his opinion. It wasn't like he would care, and frankly, he was a new arrival as well, so he'd just have to roll with the group's decisions for now. And the group was Cindy, Paul, Chelsea and the rest of the Shelter. Said rest had give Chelsea power by proxy, so they'd have to accept whatever decision she made.

On the one hand, the lying had been suspicious, on the other, the Mark guy did give her a feeling of trying genuinely to protect the other two, and if you looked at his actions from that perspective, they immediately looked less suspect. They could use a chef, and arguably some teenage kid. The older lady would be ballast, probably, but their duty as survivors on this dead state wasn't just to keep themselves alive, it was also to offer shelter and safety to those less fortunate.

She took one more moment to confirm it to herself and then told the others, "Alright, we're takin' 'em in. Might put a strain on our rations but we'll find a way."

Paul nodded. "I'm alright with it. Maybe a chef will indeed make our food last longer."

"An' hey," Cindy said, "Kid's kinda good-looking, inne?"

"Cindy," Chelsea laughed. "He's what, sixteen?"

She shrugged. "Ain't no cops or judges or busybodies to give you shit over it. Sides, sixteen's legal."

Paul hid his face in his hands. "Ladies, please."

"Well uh," Chelsea said, "You go for it if you want."

"I was thinkin' you, actually," Cindy chuckled. "You look like you could use a good horizontal tango."

Chelsea decided to just roll with it and said, "If you say so, Cindy. So, let's tell them the good news, I s'pose."

When they came back inside, the three heads immediately went up in their direction. "So," the man asked, "Have you… made a decision?"

"Yeh," Chelsea announced. "You can come with us, if you like. All three of yeh."

The kid whooped, and Mark, too let out a sigh of relief. The older woman's face showed a tentative, confused smile. "You won't regret it," Mark said, standing up and shaking Chelsea's hand in both of his. We'll work hard, make no trouble, do our part."

"Yeah," the teenager backed him up. "Thanks so much, we were kinda getting desperate. So are there, like, many people at your Shelter?"

"A few, yeh," Chelsea smiled. "More every day." Cindy was right, he was pretty cute. Not that it mattered, he was a bit on the young side for everyone, except maybe Cindy herself.

"So y'all," Cindy announced, "Pack your stuff an' let's get goin'. We've got a pretty long walk ahead of us."

"Right," Mark said, crushing his beer can and rising. "About that, we uh, also have a little announcement to make."

Chelsea hoped this wouldn't be a cold shower. "Nowt unpleasant, I hope?"

He grinned. "No, no, don't worry. We uh, weren't entirely honest about the remaining food. We've got most of it stashed in the back room. There's quite a bit left. A few jars of pickles, a box of tomatoes, bag of onions, potatoes, even some burgers and canned meat."

That was a nice surprise, and Chelsea could understand perfectly why they'd kept that secret until the very end. "That's awesome! Can we carry all of it?"

"Pretty sure we can. Ryan and me will haul all the boxes you want if it means we get to stay at an actual shelter."

Chelsea chuckled. "Warm up those biceps then, an' let's get movin'."

"Yeah, best make sure we're gone in case those Coyotes come back."

It was late afternoon when they were finally ready to leave, their new sheltermates needing some time to get their gear together. They were finally ready, backpacks and sleeping bags on their backs and boxes in their arms.

"You made the right call," Paul told her as they walked. "We should turn people away, even if they don't bring special skills to the table."

"Yeh, I think so too."

Meanwhile, the teenager, Ryan, was busily talking to Cindy, who walked and listened. The Japanese woman walked on her own, looking a mix between relieved and confused. Max just walked.

Mark caught up to them. "So, can you tell me a little bit about your Shelter?"

"Yeh sure," Chelsea said. "It's up North, the school. Splendid High."

"Never heard of it," he said, "but that's no surprise, we'd spent a long time on that bus before everything went to Hell. Got a lot of people there?"

"Yeh, a dozen or so, you included. I mean, it's nae a metropolis, but wha' is these days."

"Ah. And where are you from? Obviously not around here?"

Paul laughed.

"Na, I'm from England, but you probably figured tha' out already. Gateshead, a dismal, soul-crushin' city in a dismal, soul-crushin' part of a dismal, soul-crushin' country."

He chuckled. "Not exactly a patriot, then." Chelsea noticed he was clean-shaved despite there being a zombie apocalypse on. Only one who shaved so meticulously was Paul, and well, they had an entire high school as a shelter, not just some run-down diner. "Funny though, I'd never expected for our savior to have this particular accent."

"Heh, yeh, I'm pretty sure I'm the only Brit around, and alive, for hundreds of miles." Again her thoughts strayed to her parents, but she didn't want to think about it, didn't even dare to hope they were alright. She knew they weren't.

She looked back at Cindy, walking with Ryan still in tow. Eventually – presumably after enough of his insistence – she lowered her surgical mask to show him the rest of her face. He looked pleasantly surprised at what he saw. He was right to be, Cindy was a looker if you could see past the foot that was constantly in her mouth. The kid's hormones were probably cracking their knuckles and getting ready to shift into overdrive.

"So how did you end up here?" Mark asked, shifting the weight of the box from one arm to the other. "The classic 'we got stranded on vacation' backstory?"

"No, we were here for… doesn't matter. Our plane crashed. Not a lot of us survived."

"Oh. Sorry to hear that. And what about you… Paul, was it?"

"That's right," he replied. "I was hightailing it home with my husband. His story'll probably sound familiar: we drove too fast, too carelessly, and we crashed the car. I survived, he didn't."

"Oh," he simply said. "I'm sorry."

"So am I."

He sighed. "I should probably tell you this now, so you can avoid reminding him of it too much, but… Ryan's alone too. Infected got his parents, his kid sister. He was still on the bus when the driver took off. They weren't. We didn't see it happen, but there was no way they could've survived. Can I ask you to, um…" He looked back at him, walking with Cindy and busily talking. "… kid gloves with him, if you can. He's had it rough."

She wished he hadn't. Wished they all hadn't. "Of course, yeh. We'll be considerate. Not like we don't know exactly how loss feels ourselves."

"Yeah."

They took a short break, sitting down in the shade and drinking some luke-warm beer. Michiru had pointed at a water bottle, and Ryan had been given a can of cola. Everyone realized it was stupid to care about minimum age, but only after the can had been opened. Mark had returned to sitting with his two companions, and Cindy had come back to sit with Chelsea and Paul. Max stood near the road, looking out over it with his axe in his hand, his face sullenly grim as always.

"Pff," Cindy blew, as she threw her ass down in the grass. "He's a nice kid, but boy is he eager to impress the girls."

"Crushin' on yeh then, is he?" Chelsea asked with a grin.

"I think it's just a case of wantin' to look good," Cindy said back, "but he sure is tryin' his hardest."

Paul shrugged. "Wouldn't you? Teenager suddenly finding himself meeting two young ladies during a zombie apocalypse…"

"Two _extremely attractive_ young ladies, if you please," Cindy added with a wink. "But yeah, end of the world ain't no reason for hormones to stop workin'."

"Thought you'd be pleased?" Chelsea asked her. "You said 'e was lush, yeah?"

"Mmmyeah, but no. Don't think he's my type."

"Oh, okay."

They finished their drinks and headed home, with this time being Chelsea's turn to be bombarded with questions from Ryan. Paul, Mark and Cindy walked together, the Japanese lady and Max on their own as always.

"So hey, you talk weird?"

Strange opener, but okay. "It's not weird where I'm from."

"And uh, where is that?"

"Gateshead, city in the North of England. Wha' about you? You obviously aren't from Texas."

"No," he said, "We're… I'm from California. We were here on holiday when… when it happened."

There was no point beating around the bush. "Yeh. Mark told me you lost your family. You dealin' with it, alright?"

He was quiet for a while, then said, "I think so. I don't know. Part of me doesn't want to realize it I think."

"I know the feeling."

He turned toward her. "So your family's not waiting for you back at your shelter?"

"No, they're… they were back in England."

He kicked a pebble away. "Sorry to hear that. Maybe they're alright though."

"I'm not holdin' out any hope, but yeh, there's always a tiny chance."

"Sorry, didn't mean to get all gloomy," he said, visibly pulling himself together. "So uh, what did you do in your past life?"

She had to chuckle at the memory. "I was the most forgettable person you could imagine. A useless lass from Gateshead with a just-barely-made-it diploma from a shite local high school and a shite job stockin' racks at fuckin' Tesco." She'd always hated the pointless mediocrity of her life, but now found herself wishing for it again. "I was such a useless gobshite, haha."

He laughed with her. "At least you actually made it out of high school before all this began."

"Tha's true, an' one good thing this whole end of the world thing did is sparin' me from a lifetime of baggin' groceries for fat birds an' old gadgies."

"So uh, anyone uh, special waiting for you at your shelter?"

Oh shit, if that wasn't the least subtle way to ask if a girl was single in the history of forever. Still, she resisted the temptation to embarrass him a little and just casually answered, "Na, I'm boyfriendless. Ave been for a while, come to think of it." Not like her previous relationships had been impressive. Most had been short, though she'd managed to part as friends in most cases. "Not exactly lookin' right now either. Zombie apocalypse seems to 'ave put quite a damper on my romantic drive for now." She hoped the hint was a bit obvious. He was rather cute, and nice and all, but right now she wasn't in any direct need for flirtations with a guy fresh out of puberty – if that.

"Oh. Yeah, I can see why." He tried to sound casual when he continued, "I mean, me neither. Obviously. Not like I'm looking or anything."

Chelsea had to admit she found his routine adorable. He was trying to make an impression, obviously, but he really didn't seem like a bad kid. And who knew, maybe he'd get lucky later on. Elaine and Renee were, after all, single. Though she didn't think much of his life expectancy if Renee's mother disapproved of his attempts at wooing. And Elaine might not be all that receptive to excessive male friendliness at this point.

They were closer to home now, Chelsea recognized the field with the electricity pylons just south of the school. Good thing because the sun already started setting.

"I'm looking forward to seeing your Shelter," Ryan said. "You uh, you wouldn't happen to have, like, working showers, would you?"

Chelsea permitted herself to show a wide grin. "Oh yeh, we do. An' I like how you set your priorities."

He clapped his hands and wrung them together, "Oh that's great. They aren't, like co-ed or something?"

That was a term she didn't know. "Co-ed?"

"Yeah, you know. Girls and boys together."

Ha, that was some wishful thinking right there. "Tch, _no_. I don't think there's any school that'd allow girls an' boys to shower together." Chelsea noticed the furtive glance he threw at her breasts. It wasn't the first. Ah, boys would be boys.

"School? Oh, you're holed up at a school. That makes sense."

She'd unwittingly revealed the nature of the Shelter, but that didn't really matter since they were going there anyway. "Yeh, it does. Plenty of room, good accommodations an' facilities." Though she had to admit it was, "Not as defensible as we'd like, bu'…"

"Yeah," he grinned. "They're usually not built with a zombie horde in mind."

"Not a literal one, at least."

"And what about the people? They nice?"

She nodded, "Oh yeah, they are, we've got a nice community goin'. Don't worry, we won't chop you up and throw yeh in the pot."

He sighed in mock relief. "Good to know. Hey uh… what happened to your hand?"

She attributed the bluntness of his question to the thoughtlessness of youth and tried to ignore the sinking feeling that manifested when she thought of her injuries, and answered, holding her bandaged hand up, "Zombies got meh. Well, one did. They can bite well 'ard, it turns out."

"Ouch," he said, with a wince. "It healing alright?"

"Uh…" she explained to him, "It won't really _heal_ as such. I left two of my fingers be'ind on tha' parkin' lot."

"Geez."

"Believe me, it felt even worse'n it looks. Feelin' your fingerbones crunch is… no' a fun ride."

"I can imagine. Hey if you uh, if you need someone to talk to…?"

His ploy was ludicrously transparent, but harmless, and she had to give him points for trying. Laughing, she said, "No, tha's alreet, I'll be fine. I'm a very positive person." She liked the kid, his bumbling advances were rather endearing.

The conversation shifted to her dialect – it always did at some point – and she spent the remainder of the walk talking to Ryan about home, and his family. The kid had indeed lost his sister and parents in the bus fiasco that had landed his group at that one diner, and he seemed more broken up about it than he let on. Chelsea had offered a listening ear, but it seemed his inhibitions won over against his grief at that point and he changed the subject, asking about the Shelter and what it was like. There were a few more surreptitious boob-glances, but nothing unsettling. He also asked a bit about Cindy, predictably, even sneakily and in a roundabout way trying to divine if she was single by mentioning that he looked forward to meeting her boyfriend if she had one. She'd indulged him and confirmed her single-status, much to his badly-hidden delight.

The conversation shifted towards Texas and how neither of them knew the area all that well, before Cindy announced, "Hey y'all, we're almost there. Y'all have any doubts about joinin', now's the time to say so."

Mark laughed and said, "No, we've dragged these boxes too far to turn back now. Unless miss Chelsea was lying about not chopping us up and cooking us."

"Sheet," Cindy said, "I dunno, Chel, were you lyin'?"

"They'll find out soon enough," Chelsea joked. "If you wake up tomorrow with your limbs still attached, you'll know I weren't."

They walked up the hill to Splendid High, and saw Anita sitting down in a chair near the gate, outside the fence. She looked exhausted, and Chelsea could see the sweat glistening on her brow from twenty metres away.

"Eya, Anita! Y'alright?"

She lifted her head with much effort, but did succeed at a smile. "Hey Chelsea. I'm completely exhausted, but in a good way. Check out the fence if you've got some time later today."

"Oh yeh, I definitely will. Don't forget to get some rest, yeah?"

"Uh huh." She stood up when they reached her. "So, more new arrivals?" She nudged her head at the three people they had in tow.

"Aye, we found 'em hidin' in a diner. They're a good sort."

Anita wiped the sweat off her forehead with the kerchief she wore around her neck and said, "Well, welcome then. If Chelsea says you're alright, then you probably are." She dried her hands with the kerchief and extended one towards the new people. "I'm Anita Cass. I'm the dumb muscle who builds the fences around here."

Mark and Ryan shook her hand, and after a moments of silent hesitation, so did the Japanese woman. "I'm Mark, this is Ryan, and the quiet lady behind us is Michiru."

The woman rapped, "Hai. Yata Michiru desu."

"… I have no idea what you just said," Anita bumbled, perplexed.

"None of us do, unfortunately, we don't speak Japanese," Mark said. "But um, we'll figure something out."

"Uh, yeah, I'm sure."

"Come on," Chelsea said, "Let's get you introduced an' settled in. Anita, _get some rest_ , yeah?"

She held up two fingers. "Promised. After I get this done."

"Hmph. But right after, you got tha'?"

They walked through the gate and towards the school building.

"She seems nice," Mark remarked.

"Oh yeh, they all are." She chuckled when she thought of Doug. "Some are more… socially capable than others, though."

"So uh, how will we make ourselves useful here?"

"Well," she explained, "we can use a chef, because what Davis an' I cook up usually tastes like arse left in the sun all day. An' since there's more an' more of us with every day, we'll need someone to cook full-time, d'you know what I mean like?"

His face lit up. "Well, that's… excellent! Show me to the kitchen and I'll get started right now!"

"In a bit, I'd like to introduce you all first." She pushed open the double doors to the school and saw Elaine walking across the atrium, holding a tray of dirty glasses. "Oi Elaine!"

She jumped from Chelsea's voice, almost letting the glasses crash to the floor, but managed to keep them on the tray with some deft balance-shifting. "Oh! Hey Chelsea! Everyone come back alright?" A pause, and then, "Oh, even more people?"

"Yeh, we brought some more company. Can you call everyone together so we can do some introductions?"

"Sure, yeah, absolutely. Give me a few minutes to fetch everyone."

She felt Ryan sidle up to her. "Um, what was her name again?"

Chelsea laughed. "It's Elaine." She resisted the temptation to add, 'you randy adolescent' and just said, "So let's unload this lot, an' then do introductions. Our group's gettin' a bit too large to introduce people individually, innit."

When the supplies and other loot were safely stashed in the storage room, they returned to find everyone waiting in the atrium. Even Anita, who'd already been introduced.

"Evenin' all," Chelsea spoke up. "We've got some new people stayin' with us here at Splendid High. This here is Mark, 'e's a cook – sorry, _chef_ , an' 'e'll be makin' food tha's actually edible." She added with a grin, "No offence, Davis."

He grinned back. "None taken, my cooking skills are only slightly better than those of a house plant."

"They are, at tha'. This is Ryan, I'm sure we'll find summat for 'im to do, 'e's young bu' full of energy. An' tha' there's Michiru, she's uh… she doesn't say much, she only speaks Japanese, bu' we'll figure summat out."

Someone stepped forward. The last person she'd expected. With his chest puffed out and his nose in the air, Doug Schultz came forward and said, "I know Japanese."

"Yeh _do_?"

A frown immediately appeared on his face. "Yes. I do. There's no need to act so surprised."

"Yeh, no, I was just… it's not exactly a common skill, d'you know wha' I mean like?" Chelsea motioned towards Michiru. "Bu' be my guest, see if you can get a conversation goin'."

Doug marched past her with an indignant "Hmph" and stood in front of Michiru, slightly bending forward to bring his face down to hers. He cleared his throat and said, "Ahem… ohayou, Michiru-chan. Me desu Doug. Uh… konnichi wa. Kawaii desu? Suki da sushi. Arigatou gozaimasu!"

Chelsea had no idea what he'd said, but it sounded like absolute garbage, and it as clear she wasn't the only one who thought so. Michiru's face turned a dark red and she looked about ready to explode out of her skin. "Urusai, bakayarou!" she shouted at him. "Kono hajisarashi-me!"

The entire room fell silent, until Doug wisely and carefully retreated. "Um… I think she uh… the moment might be… I mean, she's probably dealing with some… traumatic memories or something."

Mark let out a chortle and said, "Sure, or like most Japanese people, she doesn't take kindly to people butchering her language."

That, and even Chelsea knew that using the -chan suffix to a middle-aged woman was a blatant insult.

Doug blew, but insecurity was apparent in his voice when he said, "Please. My Japanese is just fine."

Mark only responded by rolling his eyes. "Okay then."

"Alright guys, we'll deal with the language barrier later, yeah? Let's let our guests make themselves at home, settle in, get to know you. I'll just quickly introduce everyone, yeah?" She cleared her throat and went down the line. "Alreet, tha's Elaine, you've seen 'er already, then there's Davis the radio man. Tha's Joel, 'e patrols the fence. Anita's daughter Renee, our medic and all-round nice person. Doug's uh, introduced 'imself already. There's also Bud, 'e does night watches, but I assume 'e's sleepin'?" She gave Elaine a look, who nodded. "Then tha's everyone." She spread her hands around the atrium. "Take a tour, go for a walk, talk to some people, bu' most importantly, feel welcome!"

Mark stepped forward and took Chelsea's hand in both of his. She winced only slightly when he touched her destroyed fingers. "Miss Chelsea, seriously, thank you for this. You could've turned us down or stolen our stuff, and instead you did this." He looked a bit emotional, even. "You won't regret it, we'll work hard."

"Sall good. If we give up our humanity there's no point in survivin', is there?"

"Wish everyone felt that way."

"Yeh." Then she announced to the group. "Everyone play nice together, I'm takin' a shower, see you at dinner."

"I'm comin' with," Cindy said, tossing her backpack in a corner. "I probably stink to high heaven."

Before she headed for the shower, though, she did impart to the new people, "Oh, and again, the showers are _not_ mixed, yeh? Look at the little signs on the door before comin' in. If the little figure wears a skirt, tha' means nae lads."

They took off, and as they walked, Cindy said with a grin, "Shit, Chelsea. Why didn't you just say, 'hey teenager, don't even think about jacking it to us while we're in the shower'."

She laughed. "Ey, 'e's the one who asked, very hopefully, I might add, if the showers were… co-ed, tha' the word?"

"Heh. Yeah."

They went in and started kicking their clothes off. "But hey, sure you wouldn't mind one or two of the boys comin' in the sneak a peek?" Cindy goaded.

"No, Cindy, I wouldn't."

"No fantasies about convertin' a certain gay army man?"

" _No_ , Cindy." She liked Paul, very much, but not like that. And it didn't even matter, really.

"Come on," Cindy chuckled, getting in the shower and turning the water on. "I wouldn't blame ya, he's a good catch. Handsome, kind… and he's probably ripped under his shirt." She stuck her hand under the water and pulled it back again. "Come on, heat up."

Chelsea joined her and said, "Fuck's sake, Cindy, 'e's homosexual _an'_ 'e's just lost his 'usband. Wha' makes you think pursuin' 'im would be a good idea?"

She grinned and cocked an eyebrow. "So y' _are_ thinkin' about goin' after him?" She felt again and decided the water was now warm enough.

"I weren't but you some'ow try to convince me I'm interested."

"Toss me the shower gel? Thanks. An' hey, I'm just sayin', you two get on like a house on fire."

" _As friends_ , Cindy. Oi."

"What?"

"My shower gel."

"Oh, right. Here. An' hey?"

"Wha'?"

"You do know I'm just tryin' to make it clear that I'd be happy for you if you ended up with a nice guy, right?"

That, and she probably was enjoying the teasing, but Chelsea simply said, "Yeh, I know." She knew she had to shift the topic before the girl began awkwardly exhausting herself in apologies again. "So any idea where we should be goin' tomorrow?"

Rinsing her hair, Cindy sighed, "Shit, no, man. We… probably need to get you some antibiotics first an' foremost. Only places I can still think of are the big hospitals but they'll either be looted, or full of zombies, or secured by militias or those damn Coyote pillow-biters." She realized the implications of what she was saying, and she suddenly became very small. "I'm sorry Chelsea. I wish I could undo it."

"You cannae, an' it's no one's fault." Still, she had to accept that it was despair-inducing to hear. "Not sure 'ow long our antibiotics will last, bu' we've got time," she said, more to convince herself than anyone else.

"Oh wait but shit," Cindy suddenly exclaimed. "I forgot. They uh, they uh," she tried to remember, "had a fundraiser at my school, when I was, you know. Um, for some little regional clinic that was strugglin' after a flu epidemic broke out, an' lotsa old people were affected. Shit, shit, shit, what was it called…" she stood staring at the water splashing on the tiled floor of the shower. "Fuck it, Cindy, you stupid worthless piece of shit, remember."

"Don't call yourself tha'," Chelsea said, but she wasn't even listening, so intent on remembering. Frankly, Chelsea hoped with all her heart that she was doing everything she could to recall the memory.

Suddenly the girl snapped upright. "Parklife Clinic! That was it! Stupid-ass name! It was in the Park district, to the North… somewhere." She became even more excited. "Oh! Oh!" she shouted, jabbing her finger at Chelsea. "There's gotta be, like, still flyers lyin' around from the fundraiser! In storage!" She launched herself out of the shower, almost losing her balance on the slippery tiles once or twice. "Come on, Chel, we gotta go see. No time for gettin' squeaky-clean, just run a quick wash cloth between your asscrack an' get out of the shower, we gotta go see."

"Cindy, easy." She had to admit the news was hopeful, but those flyers would still be there later this evening if they were there at all. "Dry yourself off, put some claes on, don't just storm out there with your tits out, yeah? Those flyers aren't goin' anywhere."

The words got through to her and she calmed down somewhat, taking a deep breath. "Right, right, sorry. Shit, I'm makin' puddles all over the floor." She grabbed a towel and began drying off.

A few minutes later, they were both done and dressed and headed off to the storage room in the cellar. Chelsea had already been there, there was nothing interesting there, just garbage, boxes and boxes of worthless paperwork, decorations, a few empty bottles – presumably once the janitor's – and all other sorts of useless junk. But one of those useless things might just turn out to be a lifesaver.

"Alright, shit, stand back, Chel, Imma go look."

Cindy began awkwardly climbing over the boxes marked 'EXAMS' and squeezed herself between the cardboard cut-outs of the school team, the Splendid Sidewinders. She disappeared from view for a moment before a crash sounded, followed by hissed swearing.

"Y'alreet?"

"Yeah, yeah, I'm good," Cindy's voice came floating back. "Just took a plastic box of groin cups to the head."

More shuffling, grunting and tearing sounds came, and eventually Chelsea heard a loud, high-pitched, "Fffwoah yeah!"

"Got 'em?"

"Damn straight I got 'em. Shit, I'm comin' back, hold on. Ow! Fuck. Okay, hold on. Grh, fuck, my foot! Almost there."

More sounds came, interspersed with the occasional curse, and then Cindy reappeared from between the cut-outs, holding a crumpled flyer. "Fuckin' A, Chel. It's bound to have the – grh! – address," she said, hoisting herself over the boxes. She straightened the paper and turned it over in her hands. "Awrite, let's see. Ummm…" her mouth moved as she read the text on the flyer, and then her eyes lit up. "Shit, here we go! On the 183, just north of the intersection with the 67." She whooped and bounced. "We'll find you some antibiotics, Chel! I assume I'm invited to come along?"

Chelsea gave her a weary smile. "Sure y'are."

"Right on! Come on, let's go get us some dinner!"

Mark hadn't had much time to prepare anything, but with what little he had, he'd still managed to grill some burgers, put together a nice side salad and even make some French fries.

"I dunno 'bout you, but I certainly approve of the decision to bring Mr. Corbeau here," Joel announced with a mouthful of burger. "All this meal needs is some nice hot sauce."

"Second that," Anita backed him up. "These aren't truck stop burgers, this is fine dining."

Renee laughed, "Easy, mom, leave some for the others."

Reaching for another burger, Anita simply stated, "You snooze, you lose."

Doug, of all people, even chimed in, "This is indeed some excellent cooking. My congratulations."

They weren't kidding. The burgers were perfectly grilled and seasoned just right. They weren't the luke-warm cardboard you got at fast food places. "Well, Mark", she said, "Seems people are unanimous. Welcome again, an' you two, Ryan an' Michiru."

The kid smiled awkwardly, clearly not feeling comfortable in the new group just yet. "Thanks, um, miss Chelsea."

"It's just Chelsea or Chel. An' Davis? You happy you're off cookin' duty?"

"Mm," Davis nodded, chewing busily. "You bet I am. By the way, Chelsea, if you've got a second after dinner, I'd like to run a few things by you."

"Sure, yeah."

A short silence.

"Excuse me, Mr… Joel?" Ryan's timid voice spoke. The kid shifted in his chair, looking almost afraid to actually address Joel.

"That's me," Joel chuckled. "What's up, buddy?"

"I uh, may have something you'd enjoy. Can I be excused for a moment?" He looked at Chel.

"Of course you're excused, mate," she chuckled. "This isn't some posh public school where you need to ask for permission to leave the table."

"Oh right, sorry, it's just… in my family, we had to…" he trailed off. "Um, sorry. I'll be right back." He stood up and took off towards his bedroom.

"Wonder where he's goin'," Cindy said, picking her teeth with her fork.

"By the way, did our axe man give you any trouble?" Renee asked Chelsea.

Shit, she hadn't even thought about him. He was probably eating off on his own somewhere, in a cave or an altar dedicated to the dark god of zombie evisceration. "No, 'e was fine." She exchanged a glance with the others, "A bit um, overenthusiastic maybe – " Cindy snorted " – bu' 'e was mostly civilized with us."

"Good," she said, picking at her salad. "I was a bit worried."

"Still creeps me out though," Anita remarked.

Paul pricked into his fries with his fork and simply said, "He's been through some awful things. He won't say what, but I can tell. I've… seen that look in his eyes before. Too many times."

"Maybe," Elaine piped up after being silent the whole time, "he'll only open up to a specific type of person. Not that you're anything other than understanding, Chelsea, but he might react differently to other people. Would you guys mind if I gave it a try? Talking to him?" When no one reacted, she elaborated, "I see… loss in his eyes." She pointed her fork at Paul, "Paul's right, he seems traumatized, but there's more. This sounds stupid but… I see in his eyes what I felt inside me when I was… well. A useless bunch of misery and tears."

"You were never a useless bunch of anythin', Elaine. But yeh, sure, I mean, 'e might open up to you. Just… I'd avoid bein' alone with 'im."

Paul nodded, "I'll be there too. Elaine's got a point, and she might get through to him, but I think I might have something useful to contribute too, plus she'll be supervised."

"I don't think he'd hurt me," Elaine said, "But yeah, it'd certainly help having you there."

Mark's knife danced in Elaine's direction. "Are you the uh, counsellor here, miss Elaine?"

She was completely surprised by the question. "I uh, I never considered myself to be, um, I mean, if anything, I was the one who needed counselling in the beginning. B-but I guess I'd very much like to be?"

"You'd be good at it," Renee commented matter-of-factly, passing half her burger to her mother. "I've seen how you talk to people, and I mean, the away guys might not be around enough to agree, but you're good with people."

"W-well, I guess I'm just… I don't know, I try to be kind?"

"You're succeedin' at it better than most people," Joel, most unexpectedly, chimed in. "Hell, this afternoon, when I was feelin' shitty, you came to sit by me with a glass of lemonade and you cheered me right up."

"Oh." Elaine had, by that point, turned dark red with embarrassment. "I'm just… nice to people."

Before she could be declared the group's official counsellor, Ryan slinked back into the room. "Uh, sorry. I didn't mean to interrupt, but, Mr. Joel, you said you'd love some hot sauce, well, I just uh, happen to have some in my bag."

Joel's eyes lit up like runway lights when he saw the red plastic bottle. "Holy moly jiminy, kid, you just made my day and then some."

Joel enjoyed the rest of his meal even more than he'd already had, and the conversations at the dinner table turned to all kinds of miscellaneous topics. After dinner, Davis took Chelsea aside for a moment, explaining he'd heard some interesting things over the radio. Apparently there was someone still doing a radio show out there, but his location was unknown at this time. The mystery DJ apparently preferred to keep it that way, which was a sensible decision really. In itself, this wasn't all that relevant, but he _had_ revealed the location of a shelter where the military had been taking survivors to relative safety. It was worth checking out, moreso since it wasn't all that far from the actual High School. Davis pointed it out on the map hung in the radio room and estimated it was about half a day's walk.

"It might be nothing, place might have fallen to the zombies," Davis said, "but who knows, there might be some people left, and while this thing we've got going is pretty good, we'd probably be better off heading to a fortified camp guarded by actual soldiers."

"Yeh, s'pose you're right. We'll head there the day after tomorrow. We've got another destination lined up for tomorrow."

"Oh?"

"Cindy remembered the location of another clinic and", she held up her injured hand, "for me, it's antibiotics or bust."

His face went solemn and he looked down. "Oh. And you're… certain?"

"Renee's pretty much confirmed it."

"I'm… sorry." He sighed. "this is… bad news."

"Yeh. Imagine how much worse it is for me." She wasn't about to let things get all gloomy though, "But yeh, tha's why we're headin' for the clinic next. If we find enough antibiotics, there's no worries, y'know wha' I mean like?"

"Right." He tried to bring his old cheer back and said, "You're right, Chelsea. You'll be fine."

"Yeh, I think so."

She spent the rest of the evening getting a tour from Anita, who was understandably very eager to show off her progress on the fence. She'd reinforced part of it by making cement foundation and digging out the fence poles, filling the holes with foundation so they'd topple less easily once it was dry. She'd already finished the west side, which was most vulnerable, and wanted to do the south side the next day, since that lay by the road. She'd also boarded up some of the holes and tears in the fence, and the whole thing looked a lot stronger already. Not impervious, but certainly a big improvement over the disrepaired wire fence it had been at the start.

After the tour, Chelsea had only one desire and that was to sleep. But first, the job board. She went inside and wrote,

 _Chelsea Jayne – scav_

 _Renee Cass –study in library (medicine books maybe)?_

 _Anita Cass – reinforce fence_

 _Joel Oswalt – patrol fence_

 _Elaine Martin – hospitality / counselling_

 _Davis Cray – radio / maintenance_

 _Cindy Bransen – scav_

 _Paul Rainier – scav_

 _Bud Larsen – night watch, first shift_

 _Doug SCHULTZ – night watch, second shift_

 _Max ? – scav_

 _Mark Corbeau – chef_

 _Ryan Michaels – help out others_

 _Michiru ? - unavailable_

As she did, however, she heard a throat being cleared behind her. She turned and saw the teenager, Ryan, standing behind her. "Eya Ryan. Y'alright?"

"Hi uh, Chelsea. Yes, I'm fine, thanks. You?"

"Uh, great. Wha' can I do for you?"

"Well, um, I um…" he cleared his throat again, visibly nervous, "I was wondering if maybe, well, right now I can't, I mean, I feel kinda useless and there's not, I'm not really good at anything, so…" he stammered, "I want to, I'd like to make myself useful."

"Yeh, sure? Wha'd you have in mind?"

"I'd um, like to come along with you guys, if that's, I mean, if it's possible."

"Oh." On the one hand, she wasn't all that keen on having an adolescent risk his young life out there, and he was probably not very useful in a fight, but on the other hand, she knew what it felt like to be useless and didn't wish the feeling on anyone. So she said, "Sure, if you'd like. It'll be dangerous though, you alright with tha'?"

"Y-yeah, I mean, I've thought long and hard about it."

"You absolutely _sure_?"

He nodded, his nerves suddenly gone. "Yes. I'm sure." He held up two fingers, "And I promise I won't hold it against any of you if anything happens."

"This… is actually convenient," she said, realizing that she'd forgot something. "This Max person, 'e needs some time to heal, both physically and mentally, so let me just change a few things, 'old on."

On the job board, she erased three jobs and changed them to

 _Renee Cass – Max: medical examination_

 _Elaine Martin – counselling_

 _Ryan Michaels – scav_

She turned back toward him and said, "You're _sure_ about this, yeah?"

"A hundred percent. I mean, you guys look like you know what you're doing."

That got a laugh out of her. "Oh, if you only knew. But sure, we'll take care of you, nae worries." A yawn surprised her and she said, still yawning, "I'm off to bed now, if tha's alright."

"Oh, sure. Good night."

"Night."

Yawning some more, she went up the stairs to her room, exchanging a quick goodnight with Elaine on the stairs and Renee on the first floor.

Almost falling asleep while she changed into her pyjamas and popped an ibuprofen, she flopped down on the bed. She let her hand throb as it did, and pretty soon sleep became stronger than the pain.


End file.
